Arms of a Ghost
by Bluestarshine
Summary: A stoic mind and a heavy heart. Reese lost himself, many years ago, and let all that was good in his heart die. As he tries to return to who he was, he finds her and with her comes something new, something that he previously believed was dead. She is surrounded with darkness but she brings him light. Two souls in need of saving, two hearts worn by pain and time. Reese&OC.
1. Cold crimson skies

**Disclaimer: Person of Interest is copyright to Jonathon and Christopher Nolan. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The only things that are mine are the OC's in this story, that is all.**

* * *

The morning is a cold, frosty and almost unwelcoming one as Reese walks towards Finch's place. He walks at a quick pace, not because of the rain which is falling because this doesn't bother him in the slightest, it's just water, it can't do any harm. He walks at this pace because of the call he'd received in the morning, from Harold, to come in because they had a number.

While Reese is enjoying his new apartment, courtesy to Harold, and while he does occasionally enjoy playing chess in the park he isn't overly fond of the free time which falls in to his hands on the days, or weeks, when no numbers come.

Three days. He only waited three days for a number, but it felt like months to Reese. He knows that there is a darkness in this city, and in this world, and in his apartment he feels useless, like he's letting the darkness take over the light in the world.

As Reese enters Harold's apartment, he finds him resting at his table, behind his computer.

"Good morning, Finch." Reese says, with a small smile on his face.

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it a good morning, Mr Reese." Finch counters, quickly. "The rain hasn't stopped for days, it's very likely that it will be with us for the remainder of the week." he adds.

Reese pauses.

With a small smile of amusement on his face, Reese questions, "Don't tell me you're afraid of a little water, Harold?"

The corners of Harold's mouth twitch up like he might smile, as he replies, "Oh no, not in the slightest, Mr Reese. You, on the other hand, might wish to acquire an umbrella or a raincoat of sorts."

A second of silence passes between the two of them before Harold speaks.

"What have you been doing?" he asks, curious as to what Reese spends his time off doing.

He glances up to find Reese bending down, feeding Bear a few, small, treats.

"Oh, you know, the usual, Harold. Chess in the park. Walking. Corrupting Fusco." Reese answers, a small smile still remaining on his features.

"I don't think he needs much help in that department, John." Finch counters. He pauses. "We've got a number." he sates, standing slowly from his chair.

"I gathered as much, from your call this morning informing me we had a new number." Reese replies, quickly.

"May we get back to the number, Mr Reese, or would you rather we discuss things that you have 'gathered'?" Finch questions, his eyes lingering on a silent Reese.

After noting Reese's silence, Harold continues.

"Charlotte Connor," Harold states, as he steps towards the board.

When he reaches the board, he pins up a photograph of young woman with slightly tanned skin, hazel brown eyes, and dark, curled brown hair.

"Thirty three years old, works in a busy bar in Brooklyn – the Red Moon." Finch announces, glancing towards John as he steps slowly towards the board.

"Riveting information, Harold." John murmurs. "Do we have any idea why her number has come up?" he asks.

Harold hesitates. "Sorry to disappoint, Mr Reese, but they can't all be Mafia dons, drug dealers, or corrupt officers of the law." he counters. "Although, her employer may be one of the first two." Harold states, as he pins up a photograph of a light haired, green-eyed, man on the board.

His hair is almost shaved entirely from his head, his cheeks are slightly in drawn and rough, and he wears several tattoos on his neck, and chest, which are viewable in the photograph.

"Andrei Carlovski." Harold announces. "Criminal record; arrested several times for battery, assault, attempted robbery of a vehicle, possession with the intent to sell and distribution. But these arrests, and all time served, occurred in his youth. Mr Carlovski is a changed man, supposedly, but how much do men like that change?" he asks, glancing briefly towards Reese.

"They don't." Reese murmurs.

"I found one thing very odd, Mr Reese. All I could find on her is her address and place of emploment. She doesn't appear to have a cellphone, or any form of internet – or internet history, which is very odd in this day and age when everything we do is nearly always documented or placed on the internet." Harold says.

"If Carlovski is buying, or selling, that could bring danger to the business, to Charlotte?" John suggests.

Harold appears to hesitate. "Perhaps, I should have mentioned that by a busy little bar, I mean busy with the type of men who are interested in a certain type of women." Harold states.

"Ah." Reese nods.

"The possibilities of who is endanger Miss Connor are endless, Mr Reese, considering the men who would..." Harold begins but pauses. "Although, we have to consider that Miss Connor could be the perpetrator." he adds.

Reese takes a slight step away from Harold, as he replies, "Well, if we have no internet history, and nothing on here, I suppose we'll just have to get our information the old fashioned way."

"Oh and what way would that be, Mr Reese?" Harold asks, lifting his right eyebrow slightly.

He pauses before he states, "From the source itself."

* * *

It doesn't take Reese very long to reach the Red Moon bar; while he'd wanted to ride towards the location on his motorcycle, he gave in to Harold's reasoning – it would be impractical to travel to the bar, on a bike, with the amount of money which Reese had in his pocket. This money would be his way in to the bar, if all else failed. It was likely the Carlovski had regular, high paying, clients whom he trusted and favoured over those he didn't know, like Reese.

The building is a large and lavishly decorated, on the outside; tinted windows, not allowing those outside to look in, rest between the brick on the high level of the building. It is very secretive, very private, but not noticeably so.

As he reaches the door the bouncer, a tall, bald man with his arms crossed over his chest, hesitates before he removes the chain and allows Reese to step through. He manages a small smile as he steps past the guard.

Reese enters a small, dark hallway which is dimly lit with soft lights, which are almost blue. Music echoes loudly through the walls, and the floor, causing them to almost vibrate. The sound of chatter, and of laughter, can just be heard as he moves slowly up the set of glass stairs.

As he reaches the top of the stairs, Reese's eyes scan the room; a dark marble bar runs across the furthest wall, hundreds of bottles rest on the walls, or on the bench. A long, glass mirror runs across the back wall of the bar. Red, blue and yellow lights dance in the room, flickering down upon those in the room.

"How is it, Mr Reese?" Harold questions, in Reese's ear. "Are you inside?" he asks.

"It's quite busy for a Tuesday." John counters, as he slyly presses his hand to his ear.

He casts his eyes over the room, over the men dressed in suits and resting in leather chairs, the couples dancing, laughing, and drinking, the drunk men who are being escorted out of the bar, the women dressed in a range of long, elegant gowns to short and sequinned dresses.

Long, silver chains with small beads hang from the roof, throughout the bar, and as the light catches on them they light up like hundreds of tiny fireflies.

"I don't have eyes on her yet, Harold." John says, turning slowly around the large room.

He notes two men in the furthest corner of the room, watching him intently but attempting to do this slyly.

"Although, it would seem like Carlovski has eyes on me." Reese states, before he slowly moves towards the bar.

"Well then, Mr Reese, I would say it's time for you to blend in." Harold states.

"Just what I had in mind, Harold." he murmurs.

Reese moves towards an empty bar stool, at the end of the bar, and slowly slides down on to it. A dark haired man, whose hair is short and neatly kept hair and wears a short but scraggly beard, steps towards Reese. He wears a deep scar underneath his right eye and a second, longer scar, runs underneath his chin.

"What can I get you, sir?" he asks.

"Er, a whiskey, thanks." Reese replies, smiling.

After the glass is placed in front of him, Reese slowly glances up towards the two men in the corner of the room and as he does his eyes flicker towards the set of glass stairs which they stand, firmly, in front of.

"I think I've found her, Harold." John states.

He cannot view her face clearly yet but as the dark haired woman moves down the guarded staircase, he believes that her hair is similar to Charlotte's. He watches her closely, his eyes flicker over her knee length, tight, navy blue dress and sleek, blue heels. The men separate, allowing her to move past them, and they retake their stance as they watch her walk away.

Her hair is swept back, a few stray curls have fallen down on to her face. As she lifts her head upwards, casting her eyes over the room, he recognises her.

Reese slowly lifts his hand to his ear. "Finch, I got her." he says.

Her eyes flicker over Reese, briefly and carelessly, before she moves in the direction of a set of silver curtains.

"Talking to her might be difficult." Reese states.

"I guessed as much, that is what the money is for, Mr Reese." Harold replies, in his ear.

"I'm not quite sure what you're asking me to do, Harold." Reese admits, shifting slightly in his seat.

"I can assure you I'm not implying what you're thinking, Mr Reese. I'm simply suggesting that to attain a private audience with Miss Connor you pay for a private audience." Harold answers, quickly.

"Er, excuse me?" Reese calls out, to the bartender.

He turns around quickly. "Refill?" The bartender asks.

"I, er..." Reese begins. He pauses, laughing dryly. "I'm not sure how this goes..." he states.

The bartender doesn't appear confused, as he understands what it is that Reese is after.

"I'm looking for some...company." Reese states.

The bartender nods once. "You're looking in the wrong place then, sir." he counters.

"Oh, no." Reese begins, quickly. "You're, uh...You're not my type. But,er...I liked her. In the blue dress." Reese says, briefly glancing towards the curtains which Charlotte has just stepped through.

The bartender stays silent for a very long time. He only answers after being prompted to by Reese.

"Can you help me?" Reese asks.

"Try those two." the bartender replies, directing Reese's gaze towards the two suits at the bottom of the stairs.

"Thank you," Reese begins, his eyes flickering towards the man's name tag. "Dustin." he adds, with a small smile, before he pulls out a roll of bills and places the correct amount of cash on the bar.

He stands slowly from the bar, walking casually towards the two men at the bottom of the staircase whose eyes are set firmly on Reese. He manages a small smile as he nears them.

"Hi," Reese begins, coming to a halt as he stands before them.

"Through the curtains, take your pick." the man on the left states, his arms still firmly crossed across his shoulders.

Reese hesitates. "Actually, I've already...Taken my pick, as you said it." Reese announces.

"Have you?" the man on the left questions.

Reese nods once. "Navy dress, dark hair. She came down the stairs earlier." Reese states.

The men seem unconvinced, they don't move and they don't respond until Reese pulls out several rolls of notes – he has no idea how much money is here, but it was intended to buy him a private audience with Charlotte and so he will spend all of it on her.

The man on the right smiles at Reese, after taking the roll of notes. "This way, sir." he states, before he begins moving towards the silver curtains.

"I'm in, Finch." Reese murmurs, slowly, as he follows after the dark haired man.

They step through the silver curtains and in to a hallway which is barely lit, with lights. The music continues to play, loudly, and the lights only become dimmer as Reese is led down the long, and winding, corridor.

He comes to a stop, as the man in front of him halts, outside of one of the last doors; a dark brown, wooden door with a silver handle. He knocks on the door three times, tapping it with his knuckles, before he turns towards Reese.

"Thank you, sir." he states, before turning away and leaving Reese in the darkness of the hallway.

Reese is hesitant and unsure of how to proceed, until he hears a soft voice from the opposite side of the closed door.

"Come in." she calls out.

He reaches for the cold, metal handle of the door and turns it slowly. As he enters the room, he casts his eyes over it; various lanterns, of different sizes and colours, hang from the room. Each lantern is patterned different, lit up by different coloured lights. Silver and white curtains hang in front of the door, Reese has to sweep them back with his hand as he steps in. The room is dimly lit, only a few stranded lights keep it lit.

He finds her, dressed in the same dark navy dress and heels, standing with her back towards him, a cigarette burning in her hand. She turns around slowly. Her lips, which are painted with a dark pink shade, are pressed tightly together. A lit cigarette rests between her pointer finger and her middle finger. Her nails are painted with a dark, deep crimson shade of red.

She casts an obvious look over the man; he is well dressed, better looking than all of the men she has met at her time here, and seems almost nervous.

"So, you're new at this?" she asks, before inhaling on her cigarette.

"I guess you could say that." Reese replies, coolly.

"Close the door." she orders.

He closes the door.

She casts another, longer, look over Reese before she exhales slowly on her cigarette. She puts the cigarette out in to an ashtray before she turns on her heels and begins moving towards a set of stairs. She stops, noting that he has not followed her.

"This way." she states, without glancing back.

Reese silently follows her.

She leads him through more curtains, of silky, shiny silver, and up a small set of stairs until they move through a second door and in to a new room; a long, smooth, leather lounge runs across both walls. She turns towards him, her expression hardened and cold, before she says.

"So, you are new to this." she says, not asking but rather stating that he must be new to this.

"Er, yes, well – I was hoping...I had something in mind." Reese states.

She remains still, and unmoving, and she doesn't speak but rather waits for him to.

"I thought we, er...Could talk?" Reese suggests.

She shifts slightly. "You're one of those, are you?" she asks.

He manages a small smile. "I guess, although I'm not quite sure what that means." he replies.

She draws in a sharp breath. "Fine, if you want to, let's talk." she states.

"Let's start with you, Charlotte." John says.

Her gaze remains set on him, her eyes remain empty, and her expression remains hardened and cold.

"No." she says, sharply. "No names." she announces.

"That's fine, Charlotte." John says, stepping slowly towards her. "You don't have to know my name. But I know yours and I know that you're in trouble." he states.

She laughs; it is a small, almost effortless, laugh. It is a laugh which conveys her amusement at his observation.

"Trouble?" she questions, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Since we're just talking, I hope you won't mind if I get a drink?" she asks, moving towards the bottles of liquor which rest on a nearby shelf.

"Of course I don't, Charlotte." Reese answers. "Is there any chance I could get a glass of water?" he asks.

She smiles, as she fills up a clear glass with whiskey.

"Just water?" she asks, keeping her back to him as she speaks.

"Is there something wrong with that?" John questions.

She turns around slowly, a glass of whiskey in her hand. "The men here don't drink too much water, they don't drink enough of it. And you don't look like a man who drinks a lot of water."

"What kind of man do I look like, then, Charlotte?" John questions.

"A James, or a Jack, maybe. A water drinker? No. Someone who should be in a place like this? Definitely not." she answers, slowly.

"I'm more of a whiskey, and water, kind-of-guy. And you're right, I'm new...To this." he replies.

"Stay here, then, Mr whiskey and water." Charlotte states, almost with caution, as she moves towards the stairs. "I'll return with your water." she adds.

As she passes Reese, he catches a glimpse of an almost unnoticeable scar which runs underneath her jaw.

"Finch, if anyone is in trouble it's Charlotte." John states, as his eyes skim the room in search of any useful details.

"Harold?" Reese says, after receiving silence on Finch's end.

"Yes, Mr Reese. I'm here. I, uh…I did come across something else, on Charlotte, earlier today. But, I felt like it would be best…" Finch admits.

"What did you come across?" Reese questions, speaking over Harold.

Finch can hear Reese's tone rise; perhaps in anger, or annoyance for not being told the entire picture. But, it was something that Harold felt was necessary, for the moment.

Finch sighs, softly, before he says, "There's a file of Miss Connor, on record – she was dropped off at hospital, by an unknown driver, with lacerations to her neck, face, stomach and skull. She also had seven fractures and a broken nose."

Reese lowers his voice, as he says, "She was beaten? Why didn't her number come up earlier, then?"

"It did. It came up, several times, Mr Reese. But, we were busy with numbers that seemed to take priority – and nothing ever appeared to happen to Miss Connor, until a month ago, when she was…beaten. And now, her number has reappeared." Finch replies, with a much lower tone.

"Why did you keep this from me?" Reese questions; with a tone that is almost frighteningly calm.

"Mr Reese, I mean this in no offensive way, but you are not the most rational man." Finch answers.

Reese pauses before he answers, with a colder voice.

"Sometimes, rational thinking isn't a part of the job, Harold. That's why you found me, to do this, isn't it? You should've told me…" Reese begins, but stops as he comes to view a door in the furthest corner of the room.

He steps quickly towards the door, seeing a light underneath the crack at the bottom of the door. He turns the handle, finding that it isn't locked, and as he opens it he steps inside what appears to be a dressing room, of sorts.

His fingers flicker over files, sheets of papers, and drawers. He picks up an empty, clear pill bottle with no labelling on the outside.

"I've found pills, Finch." John states.

"You'll have to be a little more specific, Mr Reese." Harold counters, after sighing softly.

"I'm in Charlotte's dressing room." Reese begins. "And I've found an empty bottle of pills, no label. Unless you want the details, shape, and dimensions of the bottle then I'm not sure how more specific I can be, Harold." he adds.

"You're in her dressing room – how long...You didn't think to tell me of this?" Finch questions.

Reese pauses before he replies, "I mean this in no offensive way, Harold, but you are not the most rational man."

Harold can almost view the smile on Reese's features, as he replies.

"Very humorous, Mr Reese, very humorous indeed. Perhaps, I'll find out why Miss Connor's number has come up while you stay for open mike night and entertain the crowd with your humorous jokes." Finch replies, the sarcasm in his voice rings through the ear-piece.

"You've got your secrets. I've got mine. Let's leave it at that?" Reese suggests, as he steps out of Charlotte's dressing room, closes the door, and returns towards the place where he previously stood.

"If that's what you'd like to believe." Finch answers, cryptically.

"Your water." Charlotte announces, as she slowly returns to the room.

A clear glass of water rests in her hand, as she walks towards Reese. She passes him the glass, with no more words, before taking a slight step back.

"Thank you, Charlotte." Reese smiles, before taking a sip of the war.

As soon as the contents of the glass slide down his throat, he knows that it is not water but clear vodka.

"This is..." Reese begins.

"You seemed more like a whiskey and vodka guy." she states, simply.

"Ah." John says, with a small smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, with a clear suspicion in her eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing, Charlotte." John counters, softly.

She sighs, softly. "I work here." she states.

"You don't have to." he says, pausing before he reaches in to the pocket of his coat.

Reese pulls out a thick roll of bills, with his right hand, and extends the roll to Charlotte. She frowns, noticeably, but doesn't move to take the bills.

"What is this?" she asks.

"Take it, and get out of here." he states.

She laughs again. "You are very humorous but you are not so wise to be carrying that much money here."

"I'm being serious, Charlotte. Take it, and go. Start fresh." John says; as he speaks he steps forward, with the roll in his hands, and opens her left hand so he may place the bills inside.

She pulls her hand back before he can place the bills inside, she won't take him money and she won't start fresh because she can't.

"You will take your money and you will go." she says, almost warning him to leave.

"You don't have to..." John begins.

"I have work to do, Mr..." she begins.

"Reese." John says.

She smiles. "Mr Reese." she says, with a surprisingly soft voice. "It is time for you leave." she adds.

"You don't have to be afraid, and you don't have to stay here." John murmurs, softly.

Her smile remains. "It was a pleasure."

She moves to step away from Reese, to return downstairs, but he softly catches her wrist to prevent her from leaving.

"Charlotte," he begins, softly. "I'm offering you a fresh start, a new beginning." he says.

The smile on her crimson lips falters before disappearing entirely. "Fresh start?" she asks, turning slowly towards him.

They are standing so close, only centimetres apart, while holding the other's gaze.

"Such things do not truly exist in this world, Mr Reese." she says, speaking slowly and with a much lower, much more defeated, tone.

John begins, softly, "They can exist, if the offer is taken-"

She removes her hand from his grip, stepping back slightly, as she states, "Promises of a fresh start offered by a man in a suit, a stranger passing through, are only empty words to me, nothing more."

Charlotte leaves before John can stop her, and even if he'd wanted to he wouldn't stop her. She doesn't look back, she never looks back, and he doesn't follow her. He leaves her. He lets her go.

"She's frightened, Harold." John states, as he retraces his earlier footsteps so he may exit the bar. "If I push too hard, to help her, she might turn to Carlovski." he adds. "We haven't considered the idea that they are..." he begins.

"What, John?" Harold asks. "Romantically involved?" he asks.

"Perhaps. Why else would she be working here?" John asks.

"I'm not sure." Harold sighs, loudly. He pauses before he states, "There's a fund-raiser tonight, at a hotel in the city owned by Richard Farrigan. Carlovski is set to attend, it's likely that if the two are involved, Miss Connor will also be there. Luckily, for you, I was able to attain a ticket."

A moment of silence floats between the two of them before Harold asks, "How good are you at poker?"

* * *

Finch glances up towards Reese, as he enters the apartment. He briefly returns his attention back to his computer screen as he asks, "How did it go, with Carter and Fusco?"

"I went with Fusco, he had nothing I didn't already have." Reese answers.

He comes to a halt as he sets his eyes upon a bloodied and battered photograph of Charlotte, pinned to the board. Written underneath the photograph are the words: **Ex-boyfriend? Boss? Robbery? Client?**

Finch releases a small sigh as he stands up from his chair.

"Mr Reese...I do hope that you understand I only kept this information you because, you...Well, you seem to have a slight tempter when it comes to..." Harold begins.

"Filth who beat women?" Reese asks.

Finch nods but otherwise remains silent.

He casts a brief look over John before he says, "You're dripping with water, Mr Reese. You might wish to change, before your meeting tonight. I will, of course, be accompanying you. Not the two of you, of course, but I'll be there just to keep an eye out."

"I'll have to –" Reese begins.

"I took the liberty of buying you some new clothes." Finch informs him, cutting over Reese.

"You bought me new clothes?" Reese asks, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"No need to panic, Mr Reese. They're your style, if you have one. Second door on the right." Finch says, indicating down the hallway.

John is surprised that Harold not only bought him clothes, which he finds odd since he has clothes, but that he is allowing him to enter one of his, usually, locked rooms.

He opens the second door on the right to find that it is a bathroom – with a silver shower, with glass doors, in the left corner of the room. On the right side of the room, there is a black marble bench, with an almost metallic blue sink and large mirrors running above the bench. The only items on the bench are the clothes Finch has laid out for him.

Reese finds two shirts in the pile; a long sleeved, red dinner shirt and, the shirt that Reese prefers, a long sleeved, black dinner shirt. A simple black dinner coat hangs off of a coat.

Reese pulls off his wet jacket, his dampened white shirt and pants and pulls on the new, dry, identical pants laid next to the pile of shirts. Then, he pulls on the black dinner shirt. He folds his wet clothes, neatly, and leaves them on the bench. He'll collect them later, or what will probably happen – Harold will have them cleaned, and they will appear in Reese's apartment in a few days.

Reese slowly slides on his dinner coat before he steps out, and in to the hallway.

"And your clothes, Harold?" Reese asks.

"You're welcome." Harold comments, sarcastically, after noting Reese's absence of the word.

He looks up from his desk, and casts a quick look over Reese before he says, "They fit well."

"Thank you, Harold." Reese adds, with the smallest smile.

* * *

"I've managed to get in to the cameras, on the grounds and inside. I have eyes in all rooms with the exception of the bathroom. We will only need to access the cameras if you and I are unable to physically enter the room." Harold states, as Reese moves up the stairs towards the front doors of the hotel.

"Another pair of eyes will be helpful, Harold, considering the size of this place." Reese states, as he reaches the front doors.

He flashes his ticket at the three men at the door, who allow him inside after ensuring that his name is indeed on the list. He steps through, setting his feet down on to a smooth, white, marble floor. His eyes flicker over the room as he takes in all the details which he finds relevant; two suits, in the corner of the room, both wearing an earpiece. Another suit stands by the door, two more by the bar.

"A little help finding Miss Connor, Finch?" Reese asks.

As Reese passes the reception, his eyes slowly flicker over the only receptionist behind the desk – Harold Finch. His name tag reads Harry French.

"Dapper suit, Mr French." Reese comments, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I am quite relieved to have received your approval, Mr Reese." Harold counters, sarcastically. He pauses before he states, "Mr Carlovski has just arrived, with three women – one of which is Miss Connor."

Reese's eyes flicker slowly over the room, as he turns towards the door. He watches as Carlovski enters, dressed in a dark navy blue suit, with two women hanging off of his arms; two blondes, one on each arm, dressed in almost identical silver gowns are holding tightly on to his shoulders.

His eyes flicker past these women and towards Charlotte, who has just entered seconds behind Carlovski. Her dark brown curls are swept to one side, her lips wear a darker shade of crimson, her eyelashes long and curled. She wears a black, long, lace dress; the sleeves reach her wrists, the gown falls down to her ankles but a split at the side reveals her black high heels underneath.

She carries a small black purse in both of her hands, as she leisurely walks through the front doors. As she casts her eyes towards Reese, he notes a flicker of recognition in them. She holds his gaze as she moves past him, a small smile flickering on her lips, but she passes him without a word and without a glance back.

Carlovski is lured upstairs, by Farrigan, to discuss business opportunities of sorts.

Charlotte moves, on her own, towards the bar. Reese decides upon following after her, but he walks at a cool, casual, pace so that he does not seem to be so obviously chasing her – he wouldn't want to appear obvious while on camera.

"You clean up well, Mr Reese." Charlotte comments, as she steps slowly towards Reese.

"I didn't realise I was unclean earlier." he counters, a smile resting on his lips.

She manages a small smile as she turns to him, carefully holding his gaze.

"Is this the freedom you speak of?" she asks, almost with a mocking tone, as she gestures towards the whiskey and then to the room. "Whiskey and a hotel which will surely take more than you can win?" she questions.

He pauses. "Freedom can be anything that you want it to be." he states.

She smiles. "The elite do always hold differing views of freedom, don't they? Perhaps it is because it is so attainable to them."

"Are there any suits, any bodyguards, at the bar, Reese?" Harold asks, in Finch's ear.

John turns his head, slightly, to the side and slyly replies, "I thought you were supposed to be doing the reconnaissance, Harold?"

"Oh, I forgot that I was the one with all of the experience and training. I thought that they taught you to do two things at once?" Finch counters.

"They did." Reese answers, with a cold tone to his voice.

Harold doesn't respond, because he's not quite sure how he should, or could, respond to that.

"You take me as one of them?" John asks, turning back to face Charlotte.

She hesitates. "We will see. Perhaps, you will get a table, I will order the drinks?"

She lifts her head back, slightly, as she watches John carefully, silently waiting for his answer.

John nods, with a small smile on his face, before he turns away and moves towards the small cubicles with glass tables and red leather seats.

He slides in, slowly, unbuttoning his suit before he sits down.

"Mr Reese..." Harold begins, with a much lower tone.

"Yes, Harold?" John replies.

"Charlotte Connor, formerly known as Charlotte Elias, was married to the deceased Nicolas Elias." Harold states.

John stiffens up, as his eyes flicker towards Charlotte who remains at the bar, ordering their drinks.

"Only son of Elias?" John asks.

"Nicolas Elias died seven years ago, a single gunshot to head on a weekend away that was supposed to be just the two of them. He had a child prior to his marriage with Charlotte, his name was Lucas – he died in Charlotte's care three days after Nicolas' death. It would appear that Miss Connor owes Elias a debt that cannot be paid in cash." Harold states, solemnly.

* * *

**A/N: Hi all! This isn't my first Person of Interest story. I previously had a story titled 'Arms of a Ghost' on here but I took that down because I wasn't happy with it. This is a new story, but it will still be titled Arms of a Ghost. This is a Reese and OC fic. The main OC's name is Charlotte Connor, as it was in the previous story but her character is new, and different. This story will have nothing to do with the one I deleted with the exception of some of the dialogue, mainly the banter, between Reese and Harold. I believe that having a clear image of the OC, appearance wise, assists in viewing them easier. My OC, Charlotte, was slightly inspired by Severine in Skyfall as I thought Berenice's acting and portrayal was wonderful. I hope that you enjoy. I am, honestly, a b****it nervous about this one but I'm happier with it than I was with my previous story as this storyline is clearer to me.**

**Let me know what you think, I hope that you enjoy and thanks for reading.**

**X**

**P.s I apologise in advance for any spelling errors (I hope that there are none.)**


	2. Spiralling down

**Disclaimer: Person of Interest is copyright to Jonathon and Christopher Nolan. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The only things that are mine are the OC's in this story, that is all.**

* * *

"_We must consider the very likely possibility that Charlotte is not the victim but the perpetrator."_

Harold's words ring in John's ears as he watches Charlotte join him, at their table. She carries two glasses in her hands; the glass that she places down, in front of John, is clear and so he assumes it is water. Her glass is filled with whiskey.

John sips from the glass, only to find that it is vodka.

"That's vodka." he announces, after swallowing more than half of the contents. "Again." he adds.

"You appeared to be more of a whiskey-vodka man." she states, simply, as she slowly takes a seat down, in front of John.

"Try not to consume too much alcohol, Mr Reese. If things don't go as planned, we may need to shoot straight." Finch says, in Reese's ear.

"It would appear that you have me all figured out, Charlotte." he comments.

She sighs.

"It would appear that you would like me to believe that, Mr Reese." she counters.

"_She seems like a genuinely good person, Harold," Reese had said. "But, perhaps you have a point. Maybe, we're all just people who make decisions, who make choices, and those decisions ultimately define us as good or bad people."_

John simply smiles.

"Are you here on business?" she queries.

John hesitates.

"Yes." he answers, finally.

"What sort of business?" she asks, coolly, before she sips on her glass of whiskey.

"I acquire what is needed to complete the tasks of my employer." Reese replies, formally.

She manages a small smile as she comments, "Very vague."

Charlotte pauses, slightly.

"May I ask you a question, Mr Reese?" she asks, finally.

"Of course." he answers.

"Is this becoming a habit of yours?" she questions, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side. "Running in to me?" she asks.

Reese smirks.

"Probably." he answers. "Do you consider it a bad habit?" he asks.

She contemplates her answer for a moment, staying silent, her eyes slowly flickering over Reese.

"Considering the habits of others, this is not a bad one." she admits, holding Reese's firm gaze as she speaks. "On the contrary, your company can be considered as bearable." she states.

Reese's smile widens at this news.

"That's a relief." he says.

"May I ask you a question now, Charlotte?" he asks.

She nods, slightly, a smile still resting on her features.

"You're not here alone, are you?" John asks.

He pauses before he adds, "Your eyes continue to flicker towards the doors, all entrances, like you're searching for someone. Married, perhaps?"

Her smile widens, a dry laugh escapes her crimson lips.

"I fail to see how my marital status is relevant to our conversation, Mr Reese, as I will not be leaving with you nor you leaving with me." she answers, slowly, carefully enunciating each word as she speaks.

Reese smiles.

A tiny flicker of a frown flashes on her features.

"This knowledge amuses you?" Charlotte questions.

John pauses before he admits, "You amuse me."

Her smile remains. "Would you care to explain further, Mr Reese?" she suggests.

He nods, once.

"I am not sure what it is, or why, but I suppose there is something about you." he admits.

There is something different about her, he just doesn't know what it is.

She presses her lips together, for a moment, as her eyes rest on his.

"I am not certain whether this is an attempt at flattery or an intended insult?" she says,.

"Flattery." Reese states, his smile returning. "Most definitely flattery." he adds.

She smiles, again. "Your attempts are misguided." she states.

"Excuse me?" he answers.

"You are young, handsome, and very smooth talking." Charlotte says, her eyes slowly moving over him before she lifts them to meet his gaze.

He laughs, dryly.

"Now, I'm not sure if that is flattery or an intended insult?" he queries.

"Take it however you will, Mr Reese." she answers, carelessly. "As I previously said, you are handsome, young, and you are far nicer than any other gentlemen in the room, although I believe it is not correct to label them as such. It is unlikely you are unattached, just as it is unlikely you will find me unattached." she states, with a much colder ring to her voice.

She leans back slightly, in her seat, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap. She remains quiet, as she waits for him to speak.

"So, you are married, then?" he asks.

"Not quite." she replies, honestly.

"Mr Carlovski?" he questions, watching her carefully and closely as those two words pass his lips.

Her posture stiffens up slightly, but not so noticeably. Her smile falters but does not fade entirely from her hardened features; her smile becomes smaller, it becomes less genuine, less real.

"I think we are finished here." she says, pleasantly.

"We've only just started." Reese counters, quickly.

She presses her lips together, tightly, again and for a moment she shifts her gaze away from Reese, setting it down upon her empty glass like she is carefully considering her next words.

"You have been making assumptions all night, it is only fair that I make one of my own, is it not?" she proposes, lifting her dark eyes to meet his.

He nods. "Please, make your assumptions." he states, simply.

"You are not like the others here, tonight." she admits.

She draws in a slight breath of air before she continues, "We are both aware of this. You should not be here, you know this, yet it does not bother you."

Another, smaller, dry laugh escapes her lips before she continues speaking, continues informing Reese of her assumption.

"You've made small attempts at flattery towards me, which are misguided, but your eyes have not wandered over the other women in the room, who are dressed in far less clothing than what I have on." she states, her eyes briefly flickering over these women in the room.

She turns back to Reese, her expression still hardened, her eyes still cold.

"However, you have made several slight, side glances towards a figure across the room; the dark haired man with glasses sitting behind the reception desk. So, my question is, why are you here with me?" she queries, leaning back slightly against the booth as she speaks.

"I thought we were making assumptions, not asking questions?" Reese counters, quickly.

She stays silent and still.

"Well, Charlotte, those women do not catch my attention..." John begins. "The same goes for the man behind the desk. He is not my type. I prefer women." he continues, with a lower voice.

He comes to a halt as she speaks over him.

"You do not cast your eyes over these other women because you are not interested, your heart aches still...Perhaps, for an old lover, lost?" she questions, and as she speaks she comes off as far colder than she had seconds earlier. "You speak to me because you have a purpose, a reason in doing so." she adds.

"Another differences between you and me is you avoid reminders whereas I seek similarities." she states, pausing only so she may lean in, closer, towards Reese.

"I do not know who you work for and I do not care." she whispers, lowly, so he may only hear her words. "While it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, this is where we end things." she adds, softly.

She slides out of the booth, so that she is standing firmly on the ground. She holds his gaze for a silent second before the smile returns to her features.

"Goodbye, Mr Reese." she says, before she takes a step away from him.

"Until next time." John states, his eyes remaining on her as she turns around.

She walks away slowly, not glancing back towards Reese but instead staring forward, in the direction of the elevators.

"John, are you okay?" Harold asks, in John's ear.

John swallows the rest of his glass of vodka before he slowly slides out of the booth. He slyly presses his finger to his earpiece, as he casts his gaze towards Charlotte who is following the same path which Carlovski previously followed.

"What do you think now, Harold?" John asks, purposefully avoiding Harold's question. "The perpetrator or the victim?" he questions.

Harold briefly pauses. "It could be both, Mr Reese." he states. "She's a victim of Carlovski but perhaps she's plotting something." Harold adds.

John sighs. "She's loyal to him, regardless of whether she is the victim or the perpetrator. But it isn't loyalty of love." he states, lowly.

"She's loyal because of her fear, perhaps?" Harold asks. "Although, she does not seem fearful, if I am to take in what I have gathered from your conversations. Any success pairing phones, Mr Reese?" he questions.

"She didn't have one on her." John answers.

"I suppose, for now, we should explore other avenues." Harold suggests.

John turns away slowly and takes a step away from the table

"And what avenues would these be, Harold?" he asks.

"Return to the table, Mr Reese, and pick up Miss Connor's glass." Harold instructs.

Reese comes to a halt, a small smirk resting on his features, as he replies, "I'm sorry, Harold, but when I signed up for this job clearing tables wasn't-"

"Her DNA, would be on the glass." Harold says, quickly. He pauses before he adds, "Call it a hunch, Mr Reese, but I don't believe Miss Connor is who she claims to be."

"You think she's hiding?" John asks, returning casually towards the table.

He picks up the glass, carefully and slowly, and then turns around and continues moving towards the front doors. He is careful to hold the glass by the base, and not by the rim which she pressed her lips against, and he doesn't hold it by it's edges as her fingerprints would mark the edges.

"Perhaps. She's almost entirely non-existent. I found no records of her family, or her own birth certificate. No school records, no bank accounts, nothing owned. She's a ghost, Mr Reese. No house and no car. I tracked her address down and found that it led us to a grocery store, in Brooklyn. So no real address." Harold states, quickly.

As Reese glances up, he finds Harold watching him.

"Perhaps, she's just lived a quiet, secretive life?" Reese suggests.

Harold's eyes return towards the computer screen he sits in front of.

"Perhaps." Harold sighs. "I've sent Detective Fusco all of the information and details, that I could find on Miss Connor. He's searching the missing persons database. I think I'll start exploring new avenues by looking in to Farrigan, it is quite curious that he and Carlovski are conducting business as Detective Fusco informed me that their families had been involved in a decade long feud." Harold adds.

As Reese steps past Harold, he slyly places the glass down on to the reception desk so that Harold may seal it and place it in his briefcase.

"I'd like to say some people change but men like that don't." he says, as he passes Harold.

"Indeed." Finch agrees. "I've taken a look in to Carlovski's clients and I've compiled a list of the several clients who spend the most money and time at the club. Out of all, one name caught my attention. Mr Peter Rowley, thirty-six years old, the own of a multi-billion dollar television network. Are you familiar with the network R8?" Finch questions, in Reese's ear.

Reese pauses before he answers, "I don't have very much time to watch television, Harold."

"I'm aware of that, Mr Reese." Harold answers, quickly. "Mr Rowley has been caught, on occasion, with cocaine but all charges were dropped eventually." he adds.

"You think he's in business with Carlovski?" John asks, as he moves out of the front door and down the large, busy, set of stairs.

"Yes, I think he's a very powerful client, and I don't think he spends all of his money on the women." Harold admits.

John questions,"Carlovski's still selling?"

He continues moving down the staircase, towards his car.

"I believe so. I've managed to trace two containers on a dock, in Brooklyn, which were under the alias of Carla Marotti. However, cameras in the area have photographed Carlovski's men frequently accessing these containers, and the incoming cargo." Harold informs him. "I've informed Detective Carter of this information." he adds.

"While your looking in to Farrigan, I'll take a look in to Mr Rowley?" John suggests.

Harold hesitates, for a moment, and a silence stays between them as Reese gets in to the driver's seat of his car.

"Ah, Mr Reese. I've just come across some very interesting information in regards to Mr Rowley." Harold admits, with a clear reluctance in his voice. "Apparently, according to a witness at the club, Mr Rowley was the man who..." he murmurs.

"What, Harold?" John questions.

Harold pauses before he states, "The man who beat Miss Connor."

John stays silent for the briefest second.

"Who was the witness?" he asks.

Harold begins, "Mr Dustin Hawkes, apparently he's a-"

"Bartender, at Carlovski's place." Reese says, abruptly cutting Harold off. "He had fresh cuts, on his face. I noticed a bruise on his collar bone but I thought nothing of it." he adds, with a slightly lowered tone. "He reported the incident and was beaten for it?" John asks.

"Perhaps." Harold agrees. "Mr Rowley's 36th birthday is today, he's holding a celebratory party tonight. I've managed to place your name on the VIP list. Oh, and Mr Reese, don't forget to bring Mr Rowley a birthday present."

"Oh, I won't forget, Harold." John replies, with a much colder tone.

* * *

John finds, as he reaches Mr Rowley's extremely decorated, and lavishly styled, house that he is allowed entry immediately as his name, John French, was on the VIP list. This brings a small smile to Reese's face as he is ushered inside.

He finds that as he passes rooms, and enters new ones, they are filled with fancy dressed men and women, who are all laughing, talking, and drinking far too much. His eyes flicker towards the furthest staircase as he spots Peter Rowley, and a red haired lady friend, moving upstairs and towards one of the many closed doors.

"I've got eyes on Peter." John states, pressing his hand to his earpiece, as he moves up the staircase and retraces Peter's previous footsteps.

As he reaches the closed door, which they entered moments earlier, he doesn't hesitate to turn the handle and push it open. He is lead down a small hallway until he comes towards an opening; the room is filled with several couches, each differently decorated and patterned, and a large bed, with silk sheets, in the middle of the room. The lady with the red hair rests on the edge of the bed, holding a glass of red wine in her hand.

He assumes Peter is in the bathroom, as he catches a flicker of light coming from the door in the furthest corner of the room.

"Hi." John says, with a smile on his face.

She smiles back, kindly. "Hi, handsome." she comments, as she casts a quick but detailed look over him.

"You don't know me," he begins.

She speaks over him. "No, I think I'd remember a face like yours." she smiles.

Reese smiles back. "I help people make the right decisions and I'll just say that you can do better than that filth in there. He's had seven girls up here tonight. Your number eight to him, tonight. Tomorrow, you'll be nothing." he says, calmly, taking slight steps towards her.

"What are you saying?" she asks, the smile on her lips faltering.

"I'm saying that you deserve someone better than him. You know it, deep down. Go down stairs, get a taxi, and don't come back here, ever. You'll thank yourself for it later." Reese says, with a surprising softness in his voice.

She nods at him, her smile returning. "Okay." she says, as she passes him she offers him the glass of wine.

In John's ear, Finch comments, "I wasn't aware, in your free time, that you'd become a counsellor."

John places the glass of wine down on to a small, wooden table before he glances up towards the bathroom door which has just opened.

"Sorry, I took so long." Peter states, loudly, as he begins to unbutton his white dress shirt.

As he sets his eyes on Reese, he frowns deeply.

"You're not supposed to be in here." Peter states. "Get out or I'll call security." he threatens.

In one swift movement, John steps forward and grabs Peter by the collar of his shirt. He slams him, harshly, in to the wall behind him causing the glass on the picture frame to crack and shatter.

"You could do that but it'd be a waste of their time because they can't beat me." John says, coldly.

"Look, I don't know who you are but you've got the wrong guy..." Peter stammers; as he speaks his eyes quickly dart around the room for an object to hit John with.

"No, you're the guy I've been looking for. You're the rich business-man who gets off hitting anything with a pulse, right? I've got you all figured out. You're filth. And I'm the guy who fixes problems, who removes them, and who cleans up the filth. So, start talking, Pete." John answers.

"Look, I don't know what you want. Whatever it is, take it. Take anything that you want." Peter stutters.

He stands, still, held up against the wall by the tall, dark haired guy in a suit who he believes is crazy.

"I want the truth, Peter. That's a pretty simple request, isn't it?" John asks.

Peter nods, quickly. "Okay, okay. I'll tell you anything." he states.

"I thought you might." John murmurs. He pauses before he asks, "Did you beat Charlotte Connor?"

The frown on Peter's forehead deepens. "Who?" he asks.

"Don't play games with me, Peter." John threatens.

"I'm not playing games. I don't know a Charlotte Connor. I don't. I swear." Peter announces, loudly. "I'm not good with names." he adds.

"She works at the Red Moon." John says, and these simple words evoke a reaction in Peter.

He tries to hide his reaction but he cannot; his posture stiffens up, his jaw clenches tightly together, and his eyes narrow.

"Tell me the truth, Peter, and I might not kill you...Although, I've got to say that I don't like your chances." John admits, with a much harsher, emptier tone.

"I'm not good with faces and names." Peter admits, speaking quickly and loudly.

"The cocaine makes it blurry, right?" John asks. "Your hands are covered, Mr Rowley, did you really believe I wouldn't see that much dirt, cocaine, or blood? It won't go away, for as long as you live." he adds.

"I know that and I live with it, I know my demons, I accept them." Peter states. "I'll live with them."

John adds. "If I let you live."

"I didn't have a-" he begins.

"What? A choice? There is always a choice, Mr Rowley." John says. "The choices that we make set us apart from the men, and the monsters. I've got a choice to make now and it all depends on your next answer."

"I don't know her name, okay? Sometimes, I lose control. I drink too much, I...I lose control of myself. But that bitch, she should have listened to me. She shouldn't have tried to walk away, she shouldn't have pushed me, pretended she was in control. She shouldn't have pretended she was better than me. It was my money, my power, not hers." Peter comments, a smile tugging on his lips.

John pulls out his gun and has it places to the side of Peter's head in seconds.

"If you kill me, you'll be like them." he states, almost mockingly.

"Who will I be like, Peter?" John asks, with a slightly impatient tone.

Peter says, loudly and with a less shaky voice. "The monsters…You said that the choices that we make set us apart from the men and the monsters. If you kill be, you'll become a monster."

"That decision's already been made for me, Peter. It's too late for me, just as it is for you. But I'll let you live with that because you'll live with the weight and it never eases up. It'll never go away or fade. It isn't really living, Peter, because you can't escape the guilt – believe me, I've tried." John says, as he keeps his cold eyes locked firmly on Peter's.

John pauses before he says, "You're going to live your life much differently now, Peter. You're going to sell this house, and any others, and donate ALL of the proceeds to charities, hospitals and homeless shelters in the area. And that isn't all."

"I wasn't aware that blackmail was a method of yours, Mr Reese." Finch says, in Reese's ear.

"You will leave and never return because if you do, I'll know. You will never lay another hand on a woman, or a man. I'll know if you do. Wherever you go, I will find you. And when I come, it won't be a social visit." he adds.

Finch hears a grunt, a small groan, and then what he believes is the sound of a body falling on to the ground.

"What's happening, John?" Harold asks.

"Peter's going to sleep for a while." John says.

He knocked Peter out, a single blow to the head, and left his body crumpled on the ground and chained to the end of his bed.

As John begins moving down the large staircase, he presses his finger to his earpiece and asks, "How are you finding these new avenues, Harold?"

"Well, just as I begun to look in to Mr Farrigan a new number came up." Harold states.

"Let me guess, Rowley?" John asks.

Finch pauses before he replies, "Not quite. Richard Farrigan's number just came up."

"It's clear he's the perpetrator, perhaps Charlotte is the victim." John answers.

"I'm not sure it's as simple as that, Mr Reese." Harold admits.

"Why is that, Harold?" John asks.

Finch pauses. "I think it'd be best to discuss these face to face."

"You've got me worried, now, Harold." John answers, quickly.

"Yes, well, I apologise for that, John. Please, return as quickly as is possible." Finch replies.

"What is it, that you couldn't discuss over the phone, Harold?" John asks, as he enters the apartment to find Finch by the board.

He has pinned up several new photographs; a picture of Farrigan rests besides Carlovski's, and a picture of Peter Rowley has also been pinned up to the board.

"I believe that Mr Farrigan is both the perpetrator and the victim, Mr Reese. As he returned downstairs, I was able to pair my phone with his. I listened in on a call, between Mr Farrigan and an employee, of his. He was furious, he stated that he feared Carlovski was attempting to put him out of business, and take his hotel chains." Harold announces, as he slowly turns to face Reese.

"Could Carlovski do that?" John asks, slightly raised eyebrows.

"Mr Farrigan has no family, no relatives, so if he were to die it is assumed that his hotel would be sold to the highest bidder." Finch replies, quickly.

"What business is he threatening to put Farrigan out of? I thought he just owned the one hotel?" John queries.

As he notes Harold silence, and finds that there is a reluctance in his eyes, he speaks.

"What is it, Harold?" John asks, with an impassive tone.

"This is why I've asked that you return, for this conversation, Mr Reese. I wanted to ensure that you didn't do anything irrational." Harold admits, honestly, as he takes another step towards John.

"And why would I do something irrational, Harold?" John asks.

"My suspicions have yet to be confirmed by hard evidence but I have come to the conclusion that Carlovski and Farrigan are involved in a certain...trade." Harold replies, with a lowered tone.

Reese frowns slightly. "Trade of what? Drugs? Weapons?" he asks.

"Women, I believe." Harold answers, softly.

"Care to further explain, Harold?" he suggests.

"One of the many examples I came across is Amy Jarran. She worked for Carlovski until four years ago before she started to...appear with Farrigan. This is one of the many women which were listed as working in Carlovski's bar and then, suddenly, they appear with Farrigan." Harold answers.

"Where..." Reese begins.

"Farrigan has a bar in the city. It's very hard to gain entry, unless you know him personally, but I think he'll make an exception for you, Mr Charles." Finch states.

"Mr Charles?" he repeats.

"You own several bars, and establishments of sorts, in America, Russia, and Italy. You're planning to expand further and you're looking for a partner." Harold informs him.

"I am?" Reese questions.

"You are." Finch replies, nodding once. "You will be attending tomorrow night, to try to gain more information on this 'trade'." Harold adds.

John nods, slightly, before he answers, "This should be interesting."

* * *

Harold spends the day research Carlovski, his employees and clients, and his past. He then individually looks in to those clients, those employees, who he believes may somehow be involved. He looks in to Farrigan, also, but he is unable to find much on either of the men.

He delivered the glass to Detective Carter, and she'd assured him they'd have the results by tomorrow, Thursday at the latest. But, she'd informed him they could only find a match if her fingerprints were on record.

Fusco had been unsuccessful in finding any new information on Miss Connor, which only led Harold to believe that she was not who she claimed to be but rather a ghost, running from a past which she didn't wish to catch up to her.

John arrives at Farrigan's place, a large, blue and white painted building with large windows and guards at each door. He finds that it is situated in the middle of a very busy area; many other buildings, clubs, and bars fill the area, each playing their own insanely loud music.

Reese walks slowly towards the front door, where four body guards stand.

The rain has ceased, for now, but Reese is certain it will return before the morning.

"Excessive amount of security could indicate that Farrigan is worried." Reese states, pressing his finger to his earpiece.

"If you come across trouble, you'll have to use your hands." Harold states.

Harold had insisted that, despite he would prefer if John carried a weapon, it was best he didn't as he was likely to be patted down upon entry in to the premises. However, this didn't stop John from placing the pocket knife in his right shoe.

"I'm sure I'll manage, Harold." John answers, falling silent as he reaches the door.

"Mr John Charles." John announces.

The two men look at him, with empty expressions, for a moment before they remove the chain so that he may enter. But, the stop him quickly and pat him down, finding no weapons.

"Right this way, Mr Charles." a dark haired woman, standing behind the bodyguards, says.

She smiles at him, as he enters, and casts a quick look over him before she leads him upstairs, towards a large room, filled with many people; a silver bench runs across the closet wall, in the shape of a U. Men, dressed in suits, sit around drinking, and smoking, or they talk, laugh, or dance with the women.

His eyes flicker quickly over the room before he turns to face Farrigan; his thick dark hair is slicked back, his green eyes are set on Reese, his pale skin wears a few marks, and reminders, of old scars.

"Mr Charles?" Farrigan says, smiling slightly.

"Yes, Mr Farrigan?" Reese questions, he extends his hand.

Farrigan nods. "It is a pleasure to meet you." he states, shaking Reese's hand. "Although, I must admit that until a few days earlier, your name was unknown to me." he adds.

"And yours was unknown to me." Reese counters. He pauses, slightly, before he states, "I prefer to keep all things surrounding my business quiet, until I have expanded further."

"Very good." Finch comments, in Reese's ear.

"That seems like a very good tactic, Mr Charles. I must say, I was surprised that you are looking for a partner considering your success." Farrigan states, watching Reese with such intensity.

"I suppose, with a partner comes quicker success, quicker funds. And that's why we're in it, aren't we? For the money? For the power?" Reese suggests.

"You're doing exceptionally well at this, Mr Reese." Harold comments. "Perhaps, too well." he adds, meaning that perhaps Reese is doing too well, answering too quickly, and that Farrigan could be suspicious that his answers were perhaps previously rehearsed."

Farrigan states, impassively, "I am sorry that I have to leave so suddenly, Mr Charles, but something has suddenly come up."

"Before you go, Mr Carlovski, I was, er...Hoping to purchase something from you." Reese states.

Farrigan's smile widens. "I believed that you might."

"Is that so?" Reese asks.

Farrigan nods. "Take your pick of whatever you wish, you may purchase one for the evening." he adds, while still grinning.

"If you wish to continue the process of creating a partnership, Mr Charles, you know where to reach me." Farrigan adds, before stepping away, entirely, from him and leaving, with four men trailing after him.

Two men approach Reese, as the woman who led him inside returns towards the front doors, and he is then led past the bar, the dancing crowds, and down a small corridor. The men in front of reach stop before two, large, wooden doors before they pull them open and allow Reese to enter, first.

"I don't have any money on me, Harold." Reese states.

"I don't think that's our problem, right now, Mr Reese." Harold answers, quickly and loudly.

Finch pauses before he continues.

"Be very cautious, Mr Reese." Harold states, and as he does Reese knows he must have been able to get in to their security system.

As Reese enters the room he finds that blue lights, hanging from the ceiling, cast a soft blue light over the room.

All is silent, with the exception of the slow, jazz music playing through the speakers as he enters and as he looks up he understands why only music plays, and no voices can be heard; standing in the middle of the room are a row of women, he counts seven standing dressed in dresses and heels of different style, colour and make.

Reese comes to a subtle halt. He presses his lips tightly together, his jaw clenches, and for a moment he doesn't move, or appear to breath.

"Come, Mr Charles, take your pick." the man behind him says.

"John..." Harold begins, softly, in his earpiece.

John takes a very slow, careful step forward as he casts his eyes over the women before him.

"You need to think rationally. You have one knife. These men have two guns each, at the very least. Several more guards patrol the halls, or are in rooms nearby. You need to think rationally about this situation." Harold instructs, slowly and with such a calm tone.

"I am rationally thinking, Harold." John murmurs, so softly so that only Harold will hear. "I'm rationally thinking about the quickest way to snap both of their necks without making a sound. I'm deciding, rationally, on how I'm going to kill Farrigan." he replies, still speaking with such a low tone so only Harold will hear.

The man behind him grunts, and gestures for Reese to step forward, to take his pick.

Reese pretends to look over these women, with careful detail like he is deciding which one he likes the best. As he nears the end of the line, of women, his eyes flicker down upon the seventh women and as he does he comes to a complete stop.

He recognises her, and from the look in her eyes it is clear that she recognises him immediately.

She casts her eyes over him; he's dressed in a black suit, and tie, with a black dress long sleeved shirt underneath.

Charlotte is number seven.

She stands in a knee-length, tight, red dress with matching red heels. Her long brown hair has been pulled back, off of her face, in to a braid. He doesn't notice what she's wearing first, or how her hair is designed, instead he notices the bruises.

Her bottom lip is bloodied, cut slightly. Her left eye is slightly swollen, marked with a purple bruise around it. A darker bruise rests on her left cheek, and another on her neck. Her arms are marked with countless bruises, scratches and cuts which Reese does not have the time to count because they don't have time.

Her eyes, which are empty, hold his gaze and she watches him like she's trying to determine why he's here, what he's doing, and how he found her.

"Seven." Reese states, loudly, keeping his eyes firmly set on Charlotte.

"You sure about that, Mr Charles?" the man questions. "Fine choice. Underneath the bruises, she isn't a bad looking thing. Besides, won't be looking at her face too much, hey?" he adds, with a sleazy smile, and a sleazy voice.

Reese swallows tightly, his jaw clenched even tighter together.

"Seven." he repeats.

"Right. Go on through." the man orders Charlotte, instructing her to lead 'Mr Charles' towards the allocated room.

She walks slowly, cautiously almost, as she leads him down a small, narrow hallway and towards the room on the right. She presses open the handle, without a word, and steps inside without setting her eyes upon Reese.

They enter a small room; a small, unmade bed rests against the wall. A lamp stands in the corner of the room, a lounge chair beside that, and a small door in the corner of the room which leads in to a tiny bathroom. Several windows, covered by thick curtains and bars, run across the wall.

Reese quickly closes the door, behind him, and turns to find her watching him.

"It is a habit of yours, isn't it?" she states, coldly.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her, stepping towards her quickly.

"I could ask you the same thing." she counters, crossing her arms and lifting her head back, slightly.

"We don't have the time to get in to that right now, Charlotte. We have to get you out of here." he states, moving towards the windows like he is determining if there is another exit.

He finds, just as he had expected, that the rain has started to fall again and it is heavier, now, than earlier.

"Save your time, Mr Reese, those are iron bars." she states.

Reese's eyes flicker over towards Charlotte, moving over the unmade bed and the torn sheets. Her gaze is unwavering, her expression hardened.

"We need to get you out of here." he says, instead of asking her the many questions that are on his mind.

Why is she here? How long has she been here? Who hit her?

"There are three ways out; the front door, the back, and a side exit downstairs. All are guarded." she states, dejectedly.

John turns to Charlotte, as he asks, "Fire escape?"

She stays silent and still.

"Is there a fire escape?" he asks, with a rushed tone.

"I don't know." she answers, softly and honestly.

"Harold?" John asks, pressing his finger to his ear.

"I'm working on it, Mr Reese. Give me one moment." Harold answers, quickly.

"We don't have a moment." Reese counters.

"Who are you talking to?" she asks, with a clear caution.

"A friend." Reese answers.

She frowns slightly. "In your head?"

"In my ear- I have an earpiece. Look, now isn't the time." he replies.

"Yes, Mr Reese, there is – well, there is no fire escape." Harold informs him. He pauses before he continues, "But if you are able to get up to the roof, you may make the jump to the next building, another nightclub."

"Well, that's reassuring." he comments, sarcastically. He turns towards Charlotte as he asks, "How do you feel about jumping?"

She contemplates her answer for a brief second.

"I like it better than falling." she replies.

Reese moves towards the door, signalling for Charlotte to join him, and eventually she does. He opens the door slowly and checks the hallways.

"Did you manage to get in?" he asks.

Charlotte stays silent, as she assumes the question is not directed towards her but to whoever he is listening to in his earpiece.

"I've managed to hack in to their system. I can take the camera's down for thirty seconds. Wherever you are, when the cameras come back on, you'll be seen and you'll have to run." Harold answers.

"Can you run, in those shoes?" John asks.

She nods once. "Yes."

"The question is, John, can she jump in them." Harold comments.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, or rather, that building." he murmurs, in response.

"And I'm turning the camera's off..." Harold begins. "Now."

* * *

**A/N: Hi all. I'd like to thank anyone who has read my story, or followed it. I'm not quite sure about this chapter, and I'm not really sure if I'll continue posting on here as the lack of reception for this story has been unnerving and so has impacted my confidence about the story.**

_For my bestfriend - you inspire me. This is for you._

X

* * *

My thoughts, prayers, and well-wishes are with all of those who have recently been impacted by the tragedies in Boston and Texas. We are all thinking of you, sending you positive thoughts, and are praying for you. You are resilient, and strong, and you will make it through these difficult times and come out stronger.

My deepest thoughts and prayers are constantly with you. xox


	3. Darkness falling

**Disclaimer: Person of Interest is copyright to Jonathon and Christopher Nolan. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The only things that are mine are the OC's in this story, that is all.**

* * *

The second that Finch turns the cameras off, they move.

They move quickly, following the path which Finch instructs them too. They move through three more bedrooms, and a long corridor, before they reach the stairs.

"Ten seconds." Harold informs.

"Ten seconds." John repeats, to Charlotte.

They run up the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. They move as quickly as they can and just as they near the last set of stairs, the time runs out.

"Camera's are back on." Harold states.

They move up the last set of stairs quicker than the last two, Reese pauses as they reach the door only so he may pull his knife out of his shoe. He opens the door without hesitation and in seconds he counts two guards on the roof.

The first one is surprised by Reese's sudden appearance and so he is able to knock him out with ease, and place his body on the ground. The second guard shoots at Reese; Reese throws his pocket knife at the man, aiming for his leg, and he hits him. While the man is down, and wounded, Reese takes his weapon from him and leaves him unconscious with a simple kick to the head.

To Reese, these men are filth who work for filthy, bad men who made the decision to become the monsters that they are. They work here knowingly, because they want to, and so they will receive whatever he believes they are deserving of.

"You seem to be in the clear, Mr Reese. Move towards the building on the left." Harold instructs.

The rain that falls down heavily monetarily blocks their eyes, blurs their vision, until they wipe it away but they are forced to repeat this process many times.

He grabs Charlotte's hand and guides her towards the direction of the building on the left. It appears to be _just_ smaller than this building, in height. He is relieved to find that there are no large railings around the roof but rather small brickwork, no more than half a foot tall.

"It'd be best to remove your shoes." Reese instructs, without glancing at Charlotte, as he looks for the best spot to jump.

She removes her heels and discards them, to the side.

"I'll go first." Reese states, because if he goes first than he has a good chance at catching her if she is unable to jump the entire way.

Reese backs up, giving himself plenty of room to run up.

"Be careful, Mr Reese." Harold says, in his ear, as he silently prays neither slip and hopes both make it.

Reese manages a small smile before he begins to run; he runs quickly, moving towards the edge. As he reaches it, he jumps forward, shifting his bodyweight forward. He jumps over the gap between the buildings with ease, not tumbling or tripping as he reaches the rooftop of the other building but instead setting his feet down easily.

It is only a gap of a few feet but it is such a large fall, that if one was to fall they would certainly die.

Reese turns around, quickly, to Charlotte.

The rain is falling heavier now, soaking both of them.

"Come on, Charlotte." he calls out, over the rain.

"Mr Reese, we have some men moving up the staircase. Only a matter of seconds before they reach the rooftop." Harold states.

"Move backwards." he instructs.

She takes several long steps backwards, as Reese did seconds earlier.

"I want you to run, as fast as you can, and jump. That's all it is. Running and jumping." Reese says, with a reassuring tone.

"Did I mention I was afraid of falling?" she calls out.

Reese smiles. "You did but don't worry about that." he shouts back.

"I'd worry about the men moving up the stairs." Harold cuts in.

"I need her to remain calm, Finch, or she won't make it. Fear can be debilitating." Reese, quickly, replies.

"I won't let you fall." he promises.

She doesn't answer, she doesn't respond, instead she takes another step backwards and Reese thinks she might turn away, that she might run away from him, but she moves forward.

Charlotte runs as quickly as she can and as she nears the edge she jumps; she stumbles forward, as she reaches the rooftop, her ankles scraping on the roughness of the cement. Reese manages to catch her, stop her from falling on to the concrete, and he quickly pulls her upwards.

"We have to get out of here." he says.

He takes her hand and quickly leads her towards the fire escape, on the side of this building. He instructs that she go down first, and she does. He follows seconds later.

When her feet touch the ground, Charlotte releases a small sigh.

Reese joins her seconds later.

"Where to now, Finch?" Reese asks, as his eyes flickering over the alleyway that they are in.

"Follow this street until you reach a bend, turn right and then left. Your bike remains parked on the opposite side of the street, so be careful, John." Finch replies.

"I can't take her to a hotel, Finch." John states.

"I understand. If Miss Connor has any items of importance, now is the time to retrieve them." Harold suggests.

John leads Charlotte down towards the right turn and as they turn right, they enter another, dimly lit, alleyway.

"Here," he says, as he removes his coat.

He steps behind her and lifts the coat up. "Put this on." he says.

She hesitates before she slides her arms in to the sleeves, of the coat, and pulls it on.

Charlotte follows Reese silently, as he continues to guide her down each alleyway and street. As they come to the opening of a corner, Reese can see his bike.

"Wait here." he instructs.

She nods.

Reese tries to bend in with the crowd, and as he does he is thankful that the streets are so busy. He manages to make his way to his bike unnoticed. He slides his helmet on, starts up the engine, and drives at a speed which is not suspicious. He turns in to the corner of the street, where he left Charlotte, and stops so that she may slide on to the bike.

Reese removes his helmet and passes it to her, believing that if the two of them are to be recognised by anyone it will likely be her.

"I need you address, Charlotte. We need to get your things." he states, speaking quickly.

And as she replies, she gives him the address that they already have on file – the grocery store.

He takes her word and presses down on the accelerator. She places the helmet on before she places her hands on his side, almost gingerly, she doesn't hold on to tightly or hold him too closely.

Harold reads the instructs, on how to reach her address, through the earpiece. He safely leads them out of the area and in less than half an hour, they have reached Charlotte's house.

Reese knows that they have some time before those men come looking here for Charlotte.

Once outside the small grocery store, she pulls off her helmet and slides off the bike. Reese follows after Charlotte, as she enters the small store. A family run business, Reese assumes, and not a commercial, big-brand, store.

A bell above the door rings twice, as they enter.

He notes that Charlotte exchanges a look with the man behind the counter, neither say a word, who then eyes Reese off with a slight suspicion but says nothing. She leads Reese up two sets of cramped, winding stairs until they reach her room.

She opens the door and pushes it open, stepping slowly inside of it. He follows her invisible foot prints and as he enters, he sets his gaze down upon the room and all that is in it.

A small, single mattress rests on the floor in the corner of the room. A tiny window hangs above the mattress, allowing a cool breeze of air to move through the room. Everything is in the one room; a fridge, an oven, and a small bench stand only a foot away from the end of the bed.

A small, circle table with a single chair stands only a foot away from the kitchen. A shower curtain runs along the right side of the room, a shower and a toilet hidden behind.

A few books rest on the table, an empty glass and an empty bottle of wine which Reese recognises as coming from a collection downstairs.

"Pack only what you need." Reese states.

"Do I have a moment?" she asks.

He nods.

She turns away and moves towards the corner of the room; she picks up a large, black suitcase and places it down on to the table. She unzips it and opens it to reveal that it is already packed, with all of her clothes, shoes, and other belongings. She pulls on a pair of shoes, black heels, before zipping the bag up.

"You're prepared?" Reese queries.

"For this?" she asks. "No." she answers, sharply, as she places the books on the table in the bag.

"This is all I need," Charlotte announces. "May I bring the entire bag?" she asks.

Reese pauses. "I'll strap it down to the back of the bike" he announces, before he reaches for the single sheet on her bed. "This will do." he adds, with a slight smile.

Reese carries the suitcase down the stairs and outside, to his bike. She shares a glance with the man behind the counter, a slight nod of the head, before she leans in and whispers something to him. Reese takes notice of this but believes she is simply wishing him a goodbye.

It doesn't take them long to arrive at Reese's apartment, he drives at a particularly fast speed so that they may reach the apartment as quickly as possible. Once they arrive, Reese parks inside a garage and then unties Charlotte's bag from the back of the bike. He asks that she carry his helmet inside, and she does.

Reese leads her towards the side door of the apartment complex and once they enter they take the stairs up to his apartment. Once reaching the door, he unlocks it and turns the handle, pushing open the door so Charlotte may step through the door first.

After stepping inside, after her, Reese closes the door and turns to lock it. He finds something new, on his door, something he doesn't remember ever seeing before today; a new dead bolt, on the door, courtesy to Harold he assumes.

"Nice addition to the apartment, Finch." Reese comments, softly.

"It seemed like...you." Harold replies, sarcastically.

She moves, slowly, down the brick hallway, past a small wooden desk, to find that his apartment is a large loft. The first thing she sets her eyes upon are a set of wooden stairs, leading upwards, and a drawer underneath them.

As she glances towards her right, she sees a dark, wooden shelf with a few objects on it such as a small green plant and a few silver bowls and items.

Her eyes flicker upwards, towards the circular, soft brown, light which hangs from the room. It hangs down above a slender, smooth, wooden table with a glass table top.

A soft blue rug rests underneath the table, two chairs sit, across from the other, on opposite sides of the table.

Her gaze shifts, slightly, as she steps forward. Her heels clack on the wooden floor. Her eyes flicker over two white doors, with silver handles, and then towards brown and white screens, sliding doors, which are closed over.

She briefly think about what could be behind those doors. She turns, slightly, as her eyes move over the white pillars in the room. She sees a spiral staircase, towards the back of the room and down a small corridor.

"What do you think?" Reese questions.

She turns towards the many large, clear, white windows which run along all of the walls. It all feels incredibly open.

"It's quite big." she states, her eyes flickering over each window as she does.

She notes a difference; all but two of the windows, the two windows beside the bed, are the same. The two windows beside the bed run down towards the floor and appear as though they can be opened. She takes a step forward, finding that there is indeed a balcony there.

She turns towards the bed, now; a large, dark, wooden bed with deep and elegant carvings on the headboard and on the outside. Light, green, sheets cover the bed, matching pillow cases rest on top of the bed. A small, wooden, beside table stands on the right side of the bed, a lamp stand on top of it. Underneath the bed, the same coloured matt rests.

"Open." she adds, because it is so open.

Her eyes flicker towards a small desk, which stands only a few feet; a white chair rests before it, a small television sits on top of it, a lap stands on the corner of the desk. There are various other items on the desk, which her eyes quickly move over.

Beside the desk, a black and silver lounge chair rests, with a lamp standing beside it.

"Don't worry, the windows are tinted." Reese says, reassuringly.

She presses her dark red lips together, tightly, as she slowly spins around to face Reese. She finds him standing before her, already watching her. His eyes flicker, almost unintentionally, over her bruises but she doesn't seem to notice this.

"Where shall we proceed?" she asks, shivering almost from the cold water which they had been soaked by.

"I'm sorry?" he frowns, slightly.

"On the bed, Mr Reese?" she asks, slightly lifting her head backwards.

His frown deepens. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking me, Charlotte." John admits.

"On the bed, Mr Reese?" she repeats, ignoring his previous statement, as she takes a step towards him.

Reese steps back, as she moves closer, because it has just dawned upon him what she is implying.

He shakes his head. "We aren't proceeding, to that, Charlotte." John states.

Her expression remains hardened and for a moment she simply watches him.

"Charlotte..." he begins, breaking the tense silence.

"So, you're one of those, are you?" she questions.

He remains silent, as he allows her to continue speaking.

"You buy me, you claim that you're giving me my freedom, a fresh start, and you state that you are not interested in using me, in _that_ way, but when you work starts to get busy, difficult, frustrating – you beat me." she begins; she speaks with a colder and emptier tone. "Then the custody battle with your estranged wife, who doesn't understand you like I do, gets messier and you get angrier. You start using me, like you promised you never would, and then you start taking me out, showing me off to the gentlemen at work," she continues; a venomous disgust drips off of the word 'gentlemen' as it passes her lips like she believes such a thing as a gentleman does not exist in this world. "You let them have a go."

"I won't-" Reese begins, almost unable to form a proper sentence immediately.

"You won't, what?" she questions, briefly placing her lips together. "You can't assure me what you will and will not do, Mr Reese, as our futures are undetermined and uncertain and we cannot possibly know, with complete accuracy, what we will do or will not do in the future." she states.

"I apologise if I somehow implied that I was bringing you back here for those purpose, I can assure you that I'm not. I asked you back here so you'd be safe, and you will be." Reese says, finally, as he takes a step towards Charlotte.

"Safe?" she laughs.

"You can trust me, Charlotte." he promises.

But she's heard that _so_ many times before.

"Don't tell me that I can trust you," she replies, quickly. "All that I know of you is your last name and that you have an employer who has employed you to pursue me. Why is that, Mr Reese? Will you allow him to slip in to my room, in the middle of the night, and press a pistol to head?" she asks, remaining still in her stance and empty in her eyes.

"I can assure you that my employer and I would never do such things, Charlotte. We are not like those men." Reese answers, honestly and softly, as his eyes stay on her.

"Why have you been following me?" she asks.

She pauses before she questions, "Why don't you leave me alone?"

"We want to protect you, we want to give you a fresh start." Reese replies, quickly.

Her smile reappears. "Such things do not exist, such people do not exist." she counters.

"I'm real." Reese says.

"Why have you chosen me?" she asks. Charlotte pauses, slightly, before she adds, "I am not deserving of a fresh start, Mr Reese, nor is such a thing attainable for me."

"You want to be free." he announces.

"You are wrong, I don't want it." she replies, with no hesitation. "Freedom is an illusion, no such thing exists. We cannot truly be set free, our past haunts us. I don't want another illusion." she says, with a tone which is slightly softer, slightly lower, than it was seconds earlier.

She pauses before she repeats, "Why have you chosen me?"

"You're in danger." John states, his eyes moving slowly over her as he speaks.

"You're about twenty years too late." she says, smiling sadly.

John sighs, softly.

"We just want to help you." he admits.

"Who is your employer?" she asks.

"He's a good man." John replies.

"Good men." she sighs. "Do such things even exist?" she questions.

Reese nods once.

"I believe they do." he answers.

She hesitates, as she considers his response.

"What else do you believe in?" she asks, curiously.

"I believe that some people are deserving of fresh starts, of freedom, and others are beyond the point of redemption." Reese responds, taking a slight step towards her.

"And where are you?" she asks, holding his gaze completely. "Are you deserving, Mr Reese, or are you beyond the point of redemption?" she questions.

His silence gives her an answer; he is beyond the point of redemption, just as she is.

"Then, we are in the same place." she states, sadly but truthfully.

"We will help you, Charlotte, but it would be easier for all of us if you were willing to accept this help." John says, softly.

"You must understand my difficulty, Mr Reese, at accepting offers as these offers usually have strings attached to them." she counters, defensively.

"This has none." Reese insists.

"That is what they all say, and they are all the same." she states. Charlotte pauses, slightly, before she asks, "What is your employers name?"

"Harold." he replies. "And I'm John." he adds.

"You have been making observations and assumptions, tonight. May I make a few of my own?" Reese questions.

Charlotte smiles, softly.

"It is only fair." she replies.

"You are afraid of trusting, afraid of leaving Carlovski because you are accustomed to life with him. You don't believe that you're worth being saved, worth being given a fresh start, but you are." John observes, watching her closely as he speaks.

"You are wrong, John." she says, her smile remaining. "I have not become accustomed to life with Carlovski, it wasn't living." she adds.

Reese hesitates.

"But you are still fearful." he observes.

She simply replies, "He is a powerful man."

"So am I." John counters.

"I am not doubting that but you have not seen what he is capable of." Charlotte, sadly, replies.

"Is that...What he is capable of?" John asks, his eyes obviously flickering towards the bruises on her body. "Did he do this to you?" he asks, his posture straightening up and becoming stiffer.

"I knew he was there." she admits.

"I'm sorry?" John questions, frowning slightly.

"Upon my entrance, to the hotel, I struck up conversation with the most handsome man in the room, you. A stranger, to Carlovski. Let's just say I was supposed to meet someone else." she says, her gaze briefly flickering towards the windows. "I knew he would be far from pleased, with me, as I engaged you in conversation." she adds, softly.

"I don't understand, Charlotte." Reese sighs.

"You're saying you knew what he would do?" Reese asks, almost in disbelief.

She laughs, dryly, and it is a sad and empty laugh.

"You look at me with pity, disbelief almost, but what you do not understand is that he has a certain level which we must reach. I knew, with bruises, that I would be useless. Classified as damaged merchandise. I believed I would have days off, alone, but instead...Farrigan asked for me, personally." she says, her expression shifting in to one of sickness, almost.

"Carlovski..." John begins. "You fear him." he states.

Charlotte pauses, drawing in a long breath of air, before she says, "Let's just say, he was angrier than I expected."

John stays silent for a moment before he speaks again, breaking the silence which previously filled the room.

"Why don't we get you fixed up?" he suggests.

"I am quite capable of cleaning myself up, Mr Reese." she answers, no moment of hesitation.

John manages a small smile.

"I'm aware of that but...sometimes, a little help isn't that bad." he says.

John leads Charlotte up the flat staircase, not the spiral one, and down towards the first door on the left corridor. He opens the door to the bathroom and allows her to enter first. He follows after her, carrying her suitcase in his right hand.

As she enters, her eyes flicker over the bathroom; dark grey tiles cover the floors, a softer, lighter grey paint covers the walls. A few, simple, white lights hang from the roof. A long, white, bench top runs cross the first wall. A light green sink rests in the middle of the bench, a long, thin mirror hangs on the wall above the bench.

Three towels hang from a rack beside the bench. In the far right corner of the room, a long, clear, glass shower stands. It is quite large and takes up a large portion of the room. A simple, long, white bathtub runs against the wall opposite the shower.

"If you'd like to wash, and change." Reese suggests.

He pauses, slightly.

"If you need any medical equipment, I have quite some supplies." he adds.

"I won't." she replies, turning very slowly to face him.

"You're still wary." Reese observes. "But you don't have to be, of me or of Harold." he adds.

"How could I not be wary?" she answers. "You appear out of nowhere, offering me promises of a fresh start, saving me from danger. It is not luck, or fate, that you appeared by but purpose." she adds.

"You don't consider yourself a lucky person?" he questions.

She smiles. "Not particularly."

"My purpose is to save lives, Charlotte, that is my employers purpose also." Reese announces. "If you need anything..." he begins, as he steps slowly towards the door. "I'll be downstairs." he adds.

"Okay." she replies.

Charlotte moves towards the shower slowly; she cannot truly believe the size of the bathroom, which is bigger than her entire apartment.

Once inside the shower, she closes the glass doors and turns on the cold water, first, and then the hot. The warm water soothes her skin, eases her, and calms her.

After washing herself, washing her hair, and removing whatever make-up she had on her skin, she steps out of the shower and ties a towel around her body. She dries herself before unzips her suitcase.

She pulls out a long sleeve, light blue shirt which reaches just before her thighs. She pulls it over her body, it is too big for her but it is almost like wearing a night gown. Then, she slides on her soft, silk, purple dressing gown. She unties her hair, combs it softly with a brush, and leaves the curls out.

She zips up her bag again and takes it in her left hand as she leaves the bathroom. She follows the same pathway down the stairs, carrying the suitcase in her left hand. As she moves down the stairs, she doesn't find Reese immediately.

She sets her suitcase down, at the bottom of the staircase, and glances up towards the brown and white screen doors which are now open. She hears movement, in the kitchen.

"John?" she calls out.

He steps through the doors, in seconds; he no longer wears his black dinner coat, the sleeves of his black shirt have been rolled up to his elbows revealing a black watch on his left wrist.

"Feel better?" he asks, purposefully avoiding glancing at the bruises on her face.

She manages a small smile.

"Yes." she lies.

She hasn't felt better in years.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"I am." she replies, wearing the same soft smile.

He smiles back.

"Here." he begins, taking a step towards the table only a few feet away.

He picks the chair up and pulls it out, so that she may sit down on it. Her smile falters but the kindness remains in her eyes.

"Why don't you take a seat?" he suggests.

"Ever the gentlemen, Mr Reese." she states, softly, before she slowly moves towards the seat.

Reese pushes the chair in slightly, as she sits down.

"Do such things even exist?" Reese questions.

Her smile widens. "You mock me?" she asks.

"Never." he smiles.

He silently leaves the room, returning to the kitchen. She hears him moving around in the kitchen but she doesn't look back, she keeps her eyes set down on the glass table in front of her.

She finds this silence comfortable, much to her surprise.

Reese returns, shortly after, with two white plates; a fluffy egg omelet, with tomato, garlic and other vegetables, rests on each plate. It smells delicious, and causes her stomach to growl with hunger.

Reese sets the two bowls down, one in front of Charlotte and one down where he will sit.

"I wouldn't assume you to be a man who spent much time in a kitchen." she admits.

Reese smiles, as he steps inside the kitchen to fetch two clear glasses of water. He returns with them and sets them down on to the table.

"Appearances can be deceiving." he replies, coolly, as he takes his seat opposite her.

"Oh," he begins, "That's waters, by the way." he smiles.

She returns the smile.

"It was unnecessary for you to go to this much trouble, John." she states.

"It wasn't any trouble." he replies.

He watches for a moment as she takes the knife and fork in her hands and cuts a small slice of the omelette. She places the piece of omelette on her fork and swallows it; it tastes more delicious than it smelt.

"How is it?" Reese asks, as he begins to cut a slice of his own.

"As good as it looks." she answers.

His smile remains as he places his cutlery down, by his plate.

"Charlotte, may I ask you a question?" he asks, glancing up at her.

She holds her glass of water in her hand, and was about to swallow a mouthful. She nods before pressing the glass to her lips and taking a sip.

He watches for a moment as she places her glass down and picks up her cutlery.

"How did you come to be working for Carlovski?" he asks.

She regrets placing the omelette in her mouth immediately, as she feels sickened at the mention of Carlovski. She swallows the food quickly, reaching for her glass and swallowing a much larger mouthful of water. Then, she sets her cutlery down and looks up to meet John's gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't wish to put you off your meal." John states.

She leans back, slightly, in her chair and crosses her left leg over her right. Then, she places her hands down in her lap.

"Do you want the truth, John?" she asks.

He simply nods once.

"Loneliness leads to desperation." she states, like it's such an obvious thing. "Desperation can lead you to very dark places." she murmurs.

"You were alone?" John asks.

"Yes. I had nowhere to go, no one to go to, and Carlovski appeared." she shifts her gaze down, towards her hands.

With a lower voice, she continues, "He whispered promises of a new world, a free world, which he would give to me. It is hard to believe he was once kind, not always the monster he became, but the man he was died many years ago and the monster took over."

"When did..." John begins.

"When did we meet?" she asks.

He nods.

"December 13th, 1999." she answers, because that date is burned,carved, in to her memory.

"You were..." John begins.

"What, Mr Reese?" she asks. "Lovers?" she suggests.

His silence gives her confirmation of the question he wanted to ask but failed to.

She scoffs.

"He was kind, once, but no. We were never lovers. Love was never part of the equation." she answers.

Charlotte pauses, slightly, before she adds, "What else do you wish to learn about Carlovski? There is not much I can tell you."

"When did you begin working, at his club?" John asks.

She smiles kindly at John.

"I think our conversation is over." she states, standing from her chair.

John stands as she does.

"You've barely touched your meal." he says, frowning noticeably.

"It would seem that I've suddenly lost my appetite, Mr Reese." she lies.

"I'm sorry, Charlotte-" John begins.

Her smile remains.

"You owe me no apologies, John." she assures him.

She pauses, slightly. "Shall I take the couch?" she asks.

"Of course not, take the bed. I don't sleep much, anyway." he smiles.

"Ah." she sighs. "Something else we have in common."

John moves towards the light switches and switches off the lights which hang above the bed, and the lounge, however he turns on a small lamp in the corner of the room and leaves the light on in the kitchen as he prepares to rinse the plates.

"John?" Charlotte calls out.

He turns around, from where he stood collecting the plates from the table, to find Charlotte standing at the end of her bed still dressed in her robe.

"I'm sorry that you went to such trouble over dinner and I wasted it." she says, softly.

He manages a small smile.

"It really was no trouble, Charlotte." he replies, reassuringly.

He takes a slight step towards her, the plates still in his hands.

"Sleep well." he says.

She says nothing as she turns, slowly, towards the bed. John watches as she runs her hands over the fabric of the sheet before she removes her robe, revealing a long shirt underneath, and slides in underneath the blankets. She turns on to her side, so that she is facing the window, and closes her eyes.

After rinsing the dishes in the kitchen, John switches off the lights and takes his place on the couch, But, as soon as he sits down, he notices that the blankets have fallen down off of her shoulders. He stands up, steps slowly towards the bed, and without waking her he pulls the blankets up to her shoulders to cover her.

He hopes that she sleeps peacefully, with ease, because even though John believes that peace, and sleeping easily, is something unattainable for him, John believes that he could still find a way of allowing her to have it.

* * *

**A/N:**_ Thanks for reading my story, I apologise for any grammatical errors & I hope that you enjoy._

_For Mags x_


	4. Nowhere to go

**Disclaimer: Person of Interest is copyright to Jonathon and Christopher Nolan. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The only things that are mine are the OC's in this story, that is all.**

* * *

She wakes because she can't sleep, because she hasn't slept properly in years, because she wasn't really sleeping. She stirred at first, contained to one small portion of the large bed which she was so unaccustomed to.

She opened her eyes and found that all, with the exception of a small light in the far corner of the room, was dark. She couldn't see John, as she cast her eyes over the lost, and assumed that he was upstairs sleeping. She pulled herself slowly from the bed, allowing her feet to press against the cold floor.

After drawing in a short breath of air, she had stood slowly and walked towards her suitcase. She was uncertain and unsure here, often finding herself glancing around at all doors in the loft, like she was expecting someone else to enter.

She unzips her suitcase and silently searches through it until she finds what she was looking for. She pulls out the silver tin, of cigarettes, and stands up. She glances around the room before she sets her eyes down upon the window, which she remembers noticing something odd about.

Charlotte walks down towards the farthest window and after examining it, assessing it, she finds a silver chain hanging – she assumes the chain is to lift the window upwards, and so she pulls it and as she had expected, the chain slowly pulls the window up until there is enough room for her to duck underneath it and step out on to the balcony.

She returns to her bed, pulling on her dressing gown quickly, before she steps out on to the balcony.

The balcony is small, big enough for four, possibly five, people.

The air outside is cold, icy, and a few stray droplets of rain still fall but for now it has eased up and for that she is grateful. She draws in a long breath of air and as she exhales, her breath is frosty and icy and it drifts upwards in to the air.

As she lifts open the tin, she hears footsteps behind her but doesn't move.

"Those aren't good for you." John comments.

"Not much in this world is good for us." she replies, her eyes still firmly set on the view of the park which she can see, from his balcony.

"May I?" he asks.

She turns around to find John holding a box of matches in his hands.

She smiles.

"Thank you." she answers, softly.

He pulls out a single match, strikes it against the box, and once it is lit he places a hand over the cigarette resting between her fingers, to stop the wind, and he lights it for her.

"You weren't able to sleep?" he asks.

She draws in on her cigarette, turns her head to the right and exhales slowly.

"No. And you?" she asks.

"I slept well enough." John lies, he didn't sleep at all.

"It's a nice view, that you have here, John." Charlotte comments, turning back towards the park.

"Mm. It is." Reese agrees. "May I ask you another question?" he asks.

"Only if I may ask you one in return." she replies, still keeping her back towards Reese.

"Of course." Reese agrees.

"In the hotel..." he begins, softly.

She turns towards him, waiting silently, patiently, and curiously.

"You said you seek similarities." he states.

"I don't understand your question." she says, sharply.

"Who are you seeking similarities of? Carlovski? I hope that you don't consider me similar to that man." John answers, watching her carefully.

She smiles.

"You have nothing to worry, John, you are not similar to Carlovski in any way but your gender." she answers.

"You avoided my question." he says.

Her smile remains.

"I suppose I was wrong." she states.

He frowns, slightly.

"Wrong about what, Charlotte?" he asks.

"I used to seek similarity, of a love lost," she admits. "But with time, you learn no such thing exists. Familiarity, similarity, they don't exist. We search for these qualities in people, in places, and in faces but they don't exist." she says.

"You don't believe a lot of things exist, do you?" John asks.

"No, I do." she counters, quickly. "I believe in those things we can touch, and feel, things that are with us. But complete similarity? No. Good people? Such things don't exist. Love? A myth, a story to tell children. But, I believe the most absurd notion of all, the most ridiculous belief, is that life is fair." she states, sounding much colder.

"While, I agree that life isn't fair at times, sometimes it can be." John answers, taking a slight step towards Charlotte as he does.

"How is our world fair?" she questions, not waiting for his response.

"Poverty exists throughout the world, yet the world seems mostly focused, preoccupied, by the possibilities of the technological future. Millions thrown on electronic gadgets which cut us off from the world which we are slowly destroying. The extinction of glorious animals, which once could be found in abundance. Pollution is everywhere. Entire forests are being torn down for skyscrapers and 'modern' buildings to take their place. Weapons, produced by the hundred, which we turn on each other in wars. Our world is not fair, or just. The wealthy and the heartless rule it. They don't care and those of us who do care don't fight enough, we can't fight against them." she says; as she speaks she somehow manages to maintain John's gaze with her own, empty, dark eyes.

It takes John a moment to respond.

"We can move forward, to better days." he says finally.

She sees through this, through his words, easily.

"But you don't really believe that, do you?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow slightly.

"Better days?" she scoffs, continuing with a lower voice, "If that day is to ever come, Mr Reese, I doubt it will be in our lifetime. We will get worse, with time, with the generations that pass. There is nothing better to come; more wars, more weapons, more lives and more destruction."

For a brief second, Reese considers her words carefully.

"You are a very passionate person." he announces, finally.

"Passion is worthless if you do not have the tools, the weapons, to fight with." she counters, with no hesitation.

"And if you had these weapons, you would fight?" he queries.

"For the helpless?" she asks.

He nods.

"Yes, I believe I would, even if I was to achieve nothing." she answers, truthfully.

"You want to help." he observes.

"Yes." she answers, slowly.

"And your job is to help people, is it not?" she asks, before she inhales on her cigarette.

"Yes." John replies.

She exhales slowly.

"Are you always able to help, to save lives?" she asks, with a much lower voice.

John draws in a short breath of air.

"I try my hardest to." he admits.

He always tries his hardest to save the lives of those who are worthy of being saved.

"That is all you can do." she answers, softly. "I apologise, for the abrupt transition in our conversation." she adds.

"No need for apologies, I quite enjoyed the conversation. I don't often find myself someone to discuss such things." he answers, quickly.

"What of Harold?" Charlotte asks. "Your employer." she adds.

"Yes, yes I know who he is." John says, managing a small smile.

They often find themselves discussing the good, the bad, and the line between which if often crossed by both the former and the latter. Sometimes, they find themselves being forced to cross this line to save a life.

John, finally, replies, "We often have similar discussions."

"The bed is yours again, John." she says, her eyes slowly flickering towards the bed. "I don't usually sleep once waking." she admits.

He pauses, slightly, and despite that she has her back to him she notices his slight hesitation, his indrawn breathing, so she turns slowly to face it.

"What is it?" she asks. "Is something wrong?" she questions.

"No, I've just got some business to attend to." he answers, because Harold had called John and asked him to come over.

"This early?" she asks.

He nods once.

"There is milk, and food, in the kitchen if you get hungry." he answers. "I won't be too long." he adds.

"Okay, John." she answers.

She watches silently ducks underneath the window and steps inside. He pauses and turns towards her, finding that she is still watching him.

"Oh, and Charlotte?" he calls out.

"Yes?" she replies.

"You can't see it, but I know it's there – the good people in the world, fighting for it. They can save us, they can pave the way to better days." John states, a small smile flickering on his features as he responds.

She smiles.

"Optimism." she states.

"Let me guess, another thing that does not exist?" he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

He watches as her smile widens.

"Oh, no. I believe that it exists, in the brave, in the good." she answers.

"And what would give you that impression?" he asks. "That I'm good or brave?" he queries.

"You stole something, supposedly _priceless_, from Andrei Carlovski," she says, a bitterness dripping off of the word 'priceless' as it passes her lips. "Only a brave man, or a stupid one, would do something like that. And I don't take you as a stupid man, John." she states.

"Flattery?" he checks.

"If you wish to take it as such." she states.

Charlotte pauses, slightly, before she adds, "Misguided, of course."

"Of course." he smiles, widely, back.

"Goodbye, Charlotte." he calls out.

"Goodbye, John." she replies.

"Try to rest." he suggests. "You're safe here." he insists, as he slowly turns away.

And as John walks away, he can almost imagine Charlotte replying, to the statement of safety, in his head; _Safety doesn't exist, it is a lie we tell ourselves so we feel better, so we feel secure and complacent, but we're never really safe._

* * *

"What is it that you couldn't say over the earpiece, Harold?" John asks, as he enters Harold's place.

He finds Harold sitting at his computer, a deep frown on his worn features. John knows, now, that it must be something serious.

"Has something happened, Harold?" John asks; he sounds more worried, more sincere, as he speaks and steps closer towards Harold.

Harold lifts his eyes up, finally, to meet John's.

"We have a new number, John. Peter Rowley has just appeared, however I doubt there's reason for us to be concerned considering his profession and how he chooses to spend his free time. However, after our conversation I think it'd best if you checked in on him." Harold answers, slowly, as he purposefully avoids John's question.

"Our conversation about what, Harold?" John asks.

"I've gathered more information." Harold answers, cryptically.

"In regards to what?" John asks, patiently.

Harold stays silent, this evokes a deep feeling of worry inside of John.

"Harold?" John asks.

"The DNA results, from Charlotte's glass, came back to Detective Carter and she sent them to me." Harold replies, glancing up slowly from his chair.

"Is she a ghost, Harold?" John asks.

"She isn't taking someone else's identity, she's created one of her own." Harold replies.

John pauses.

"Charlotte Connor, formerly known as Jane Jarkovsky." Harold informs him, clearing his confusion. "I'm still attempting to find further details on her, as a lot of it was kept confidential, but so far I have found a substantial amount." he adds.

Harold pauses, drawing in a slight breath of air, before he continues, "In 1992, Jane witnessed the murder of Yuri Ivanov, he was a Russian millionaire, mobster, with specific dealings in weapons and cocaine, although he was never officially charged with anything. Yuri was shot, slaughtered, along with six of his body guards. She and her brother, Jason, witnessed this murder. But, sadly, this was not all."

John is silent for a moment longer than he intended to be. His jaw stays tightly clenched together, his eyes remain focused on a spot on the floor, and he stands frighteningly still.

"What else was their, Harold?" he asks, finally, his voice low and croaky.

"Their father's body, Jack Jarkovsky, was found near the crime scene with several bullet wounds to the head and torso - in the original report, from Jason, it was claimed that their father ordered his two children to run, as they spotted the killer. However, he declined knowing who it was." Harold, sadly, informs him.

"They witnessed their father's death?" John asks.

"Yes." Harold nods. "The two broke." he states.

"What do you mean they broke, Harold?" John replies.

"First, they were placed in protective custody, they spent brief, but frequent, periods in mental institutions dealing with anxiety, depression, PTSD, among other things. They were eventually placed in witness protection, despite that they claimed to not have seen the killers," Harold informs him, speaking with a lower tone. "Jane was thirteen years old, at the time, and Jason was eighteen. Five years later, the two disappeared, out of witness protection and off of the face of the earth. Until, now." he adds, softly.

"Charlotte Connor appeared in 1999, two years after her disappearance." he announces, standing slowly from his chair.

Harold moves towards the board, a picture of Jane and Jason in 1992. He pins it to the board beside the photograph of Charlotte Connor today.

"Whoever the killer was, they could have identified Jane and Jason." Harold says.

"No one was ever charged with the murders?" John asks, his eyes flickering slowly from the 1992 photograph to the most recent photograph.

He can see similarities; their eyes are the same soft, but dark, shade.

"Unfortunately, they were not." Finch answers.

A moment of silence appears between them.

"So, if Charlotte is really, Jane, where's Jason?" John queries.

"I don't know, John." Harold sighs. "I don't. But the evidence is conclusive; Miss Connor is actually Miss Jarkovsky." he says, pausing slightly as he finishes speaking.

"What?" John asks.

"Considering the case is still unsolved, still opened, Detective Carter inquired as to whether she could speak with Miss Jarkovsky." Harold informs him.

John shakes his head once.

"As much as I'd want to help Carter, Harold, I don't think that's a particularly good idea right now." John says, honestly.

"Neither do I." Harold agrees. "Charlotte – Jane is fragile, considering her circumstances with Carlovski and Farrigan. If we were to place this information on her, she might run. She's hiding for a reason, and if we to reveal that we knew this reason, she might run." he says.

John silently agrees, indicating this with a slight nod of his head.

"I convinced Carter to postpone the interview, for now." Harold adds.

"What we need to do, now, Mr Reese, is look in to the case. While you tend to Mr Rowley, I will see what other information I can dig up." Finch says, returning to his seat as he speaks.

He hesitates, slightly, before he says, "Oh, and don't worry. I've managed to hack in to the security system in your loft. If Jane is to leave, at any given point, or if someone is to arrive I will be aware of it and I will notify you."

* * *

As Reese arrives at Peter Rowley's place he finds that it is swarming with police officers; the house is taped off, with yellow tape, and a body bag is being pushed towards the open doors of an ambulance.

Reese steps slowly down, but remains at the back of the crowd.

He spots Carter, at the scene, and finds that she has already seen him and is watching him with a slight confusion on her face.

John casts a look over Carter, like he's a stranger, and moves away from the crime scene like he's a stranger, a ghost, passing by.

Only as he reaches the far side of the road doe she call her.

"Who's in the bag, Detective Carter?" he asks.

Carter hesitates.

"This doesn't have anything to do with you, does it?" she asks.

"I just need a name, Carter." Reese answers, quickly.

"Peter Rowley." she answers.

Reese doesn't falter, or hesitate, upon learning this news.

"Cause of death?" he asks.

"I thought you just needed a name?" she asks.

Reese stays silent.

"Multiple gun-shots, to the head and torso," she replies, with a much lower voice. "Did you know him?" she asks.

"I was too late." Reese replies, vaguely.

He ends the conversation before he can hear Carter's response. As she turns around, to look at him, she finds that the street is empty and Reese is gone.

"We were too late, Finch, Rowley is dead." Reese informs him.

"I heard." Finch replies, finally.

A silence reappears between them.

"Can you get access to Rowley's security system, and the cameras in the area? You could locate the shooter." John suggests.

"I'll take a look, now, Mr Reese." Harold replies. "I suggest you return to your apartment and question Charlotte...Question Jane, in regards to Mr Rowley." Harold adds.

"Exactly what I had in mind, Harold." John answers.

* * *

Dark clouds have filled the sky, the sound of thunder occasionally echoes loudly outside, and the rain falls harder than the previous days combined as Reese returns to his loft.

"So far, I have yet to find anything on the cameras." Harold informs Reese, as he locks his apartment door.

"They had to have left the scene of the crime." Reese replies. "They aren't ghosts, Finch, they should be on camera." he adds.

Reese walks slowly down the hallway and as he reaches the opening, of his loft, he finds it empty.

"I thought you were keeping an eye on her, Harold?" John asks, his eyes skimming over the room as he speaks.

The bed is made, and empty, and he cannot see her in the room.

"I have been, and she hasn't left her apartment through the door." Harold replies. "There's no other way to leave the apartment, except the window."

"Thank you, Harold, for placing that reassuring thought in to my mind." Reese answers, quickly, as he reaches for the light switches.

Then, he sees her; he finds lying on the floor, beside his bed, with a small pillow resting underneath her head. She's wearing the same clothes as she was when he left her, this morning.

"Charlotte?" John calls out.

Her eyes flicker open but she doesn't move.

"Charlotte?" he repeats, taking large steps towards her.

John appears by her side in seconds, kneeling down beside her.

"Are you hurt?" he asks, his eyes flickering over her in search of any noticeable injuries or wounds.

She shakes her head, as she slowly sits up. John assists her, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. Her falls down to the side, almost covering her face, as she sits up. She lifts her head back slightly, sighing, before she pushes her hair from her face.

"No, I'm not." she answers.

"Why were you on the floor?" John asks.

"I was sleeping, like you suggested I should?" she replies, almost warily.

"On the floor?" John asks.

"Is something wrong?" Harold asks, in John's ear.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Charlotte asks, frowning slightly.

"Er, no." John replies. "Not at all." he smiles.

"Here," he says, placing a hand on her lower arm so that he may help her up.

She smiles, thankfully, as he helps her to stand from the floor.

Her eyes flicker over him slowly, locking with his eyes; so soft, so blue, swirling with such intensity, such light. His eyes catch her attention, they draw her in.

"Busy day, John?" she asks, casting her eyes over him.

"So busy you forgot it was raining outside." she says.

He smiles.

"My day isn't over yet, Charlotte." he admits.

Her smile falters, noticeably, but she doesn't say anything.

"I have another question for you." John states.

"I thought you might." she replies. "Ask, then." she adds.

"Did you know a man called Peter Rowley?" John asks.

"Excuse me?" she asks.

She doesn't blink.

"Peter Rowley?" John says.

He watches her, and waits, for a reaction which she does not give.

Instead, she remains silent, impassive, and almost cold.

"Not that I can recall." she lies.

"I have a photograph." John states, as he removes his phone from his pocket.

He turns it around so she may see the photograph and as she sets her eyes on it she gives no emotional reaction, no real reaction, instead she smiles.

"Do you recognise him?" John asks.

Charlotte shifts.

"Why?" she asks.

"He died, multiple gun shot wounds, today." John informs her, as he places his phone back inside his pocket.

"I knew him," Charlotte admits, finally.

"Although, I'm not sure you could call it. I saw him, on occasion." she says.

She pauses.

"Who killed him?" she asks.

"I was hoping you might be able to give me insight in to that." John states.

"I don't know who killed him, Mr Reese, but I do know that he wasn't a good man." she says, implying that whoever killed him had a purpose, a reason, to do so.

"When was the last time you saw him?" John asks.

"At Farrigan's, yesterday, before you came. He walked in with Farrigan, they talked for an hour or two. Then, he went upstairs with some girls." Charlotte replies.

John frowns. "I thought Peter spent time at Carlovski's?" he asks.

"He used to, until he pushed drugs up one of the girls arms, she overdosed and almost died." Charlotte answers.

"I located the shooter, Mr Reese, and I'm afraid we've already come across this man." Harold sighs. "Dustin Hawkes." he says.

"Excuse me, Charlotte." John smiles, kindly, before he takes a step away and turns his back to her.

"How do you know it was Hawkes?" John asks.

"I don't know, with certainty, John but I was able to get in to the cameras on the street and as such I was able to place Mr Hawkes across from Rowley's house at ten thirty. It would appear that he was aware of the cameras blind spots, as he entered them moments later. No less than twenty minutes later, Mr Hawkes returned to his car and drove away speedily." Harold informs him.

John sighs.

"Hawkes is a bartender, for Carlovski," John begins, as he recalls his conversation with the man. "Perhaps, he was in deep with the wrong guys." John suggests.

"What would lead you to that conclusion, Mr Reese?" Harold asks. "I haven't been able to find much on Mr Hawkes." he adds.

"When he served me at the bar, he had a distinctive scar underneath his right eye, a second underneath his chin. Old wounds, but he had fresher injuries to his face." John says.

"I'll look further in to him, Mr Reese." Harold states. "If Peter was involved with Farrigan he could be viewed as a threat by Carlovski, because Carlovski gives his high paying clients access to whatever they want. Peter would have a lot of information about Carlovski I'm sure a rival competitor, such as Farrigan, would want to know." Harold adds. "Perhaps, you should give Detective Fusco or Carter a phone-call." he says.

John ends his conversation with Finch, decided that he will call Detective Carter to inquire if she has any more information in regards to Peter Rowley's murder and if Dustin was involved.

He turns around to find Charlotte waiting for him, still, where she previously stood.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Charlotte." John says, softly.

She smiles.

"No need for apologies." she insists. "However, I believe you are in need of a shower." she suggests.

He smiles.

"I don't think that's an attempt at flattery?" he asks.

Her smile widens. "Not at all.

"Why do I need a shower?" John asks.

"You're dripping with water," she observes. "You need a warm shower, to dry yourself, and then you need to change in to dry clothes." she says.

Reese's smile remains, as she continues speaking.

"Perhaps, I could make you a coffee, something to drink, to thank you for your hospitality?" she suggests.

John sighs softly. "I don't..." he begins.

"I wasn't asking, John." she smiles, kindly.

He manages a small laugh.

"Well, since you weren't asking, how could I refuse?" he asks.

"Precisely." Charlotte replies.

* * *

After John has disappeared upstairs, to shower, Charlotte waits a moment before she moves towards her suitcase. She pulls out a soft, light grey, short dress with long sleeves. She steps in to the kitchen, because she doesn't feel secure about changing in front of the many windows even if they are tinted, and she quickly changes in to the grey dress.

The pattern is black and white, soft, and intricate. After she has changed in to her dress, she returns to her back and places her clothes inside. She pulls out a pair of long, grey heels and straps them on.

She kneels down, pulls out a strap, and ties it around her right thigh. Then, she pulls a Beretta 92Fs and slides it in to the strap. She pulls her dress down, so that it is covering her leg completely. She runs her fingers through her curls before she pulls them back, into a pin; soft curls fall out, by her side, and she leaves them. She pulls out a small purse and reaches for a small mirror; she applies dark, crimson, lipstick to her lips and then places all of her belongings back in to her back.

She zips up the bag, stands from the ground and then picks the back up so she may carry it with ease. She places the bag underneath the stairs, because she's not bringing it with her, because she won't need it once she finds him. She draws in a sharp breath of air, casts her eyes once more over the apartment, before she moves quickly, but quietly, towards the door.

Charlotte leaves because she has to, she needs to, because it's better if she leaves John out of this.

She leaves because she found him and now that she has, she can't let him go

* * *

**A/N: **_Thank you to everyone who reads this story, it really means a lot to me._

_A special thank you janit3443, for your kind review which inspired me and boosted my confidence._

_I apologise for any errors. I hope you enjoy._

_x_


	5. The fall

**Disclaimer: Person of Interest is copyright to Jonathon and Christopher Nolan. I claim nothing. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. The only things that are mine are the OC's in this story, that is all.**

* * *

Harold first notices that Charlotte has left John's apartment when she is in the elevator. He takes a double look at her, as he is almost in disbelief that it is her. He had been so occupied, so busy, with looking into Hawkes, Rowley and Farrigan that he almost missed her leaving.

He repeatedly tries to get in contact with John, as he showers, but he is unable to as quickly as he'd wished. He continues to ring John's phone, and speak to him through his earpiece, and eventually John answers the phone.

"Hello, Harold." John says.

"Mr Reese, Charlotte has left your apartment. Jane, I mean Jane." Harold says, quickly. "I'd considered going after her but you will probably still reach her faster than I can."

"Are you sure, Finch?" John replies, as he wraps a towel around his waist.

He steps outside of the bathroom and walks down towards the staircase, just so he may view with his own eyes that she is gone.

"Charlotte?" he calls out.

He receives no reply.

"Yes, I'm sure, Mr Reese. She's out of the building now, and with access into the street cameras I can see that she is calling a taxi." Harold informs him.

John puts his earpiece in, and places his phone down, so he may still communicate with Harold. He dresses quickly, in to his usual white shirt and black suit, and places a black trench-coat on top.

"Where's the taxi headed, Finch?" Reese asks, as he moves quickly down the stairs.

"Finch?" Reese says.

"To Brooklyn, I believe, John." Harold replies.

She's returning to Brooklyn, to the Red Moon Bar, to Carlovski and Reese doesn't understand why she would want to return there.

"Try to move quickly, John." Harold comments.

"I was actually considering moving slowly, despite the urgency of this situation, Harold." John murmurs.

"Time is of the essence." Harold says, ignoring Reese's sarcasm.

John pauses before he replies, "Isn't it always?"

The rain falls heavier as John gets off of his bike, which is parked across the street from the Red Moon. As he glances towards the front doors he almost comes to a complete halt – two bloodied bodies, of the bodyguards, lay in crumpled heaps at the door.

"Harold, I think we were too late." Reese says, as he moves quickly towards the men.

He kneels down and presses his fingers on their necks, searching for pulses that he does not find on either. He looks around and finds the streets empty, but still he feels the need to drag their bodies in side the doorway so they will be out of sight.

He shuts the door and presses his earpiece. "Two body guards at the door are dead."

Reese steps over the bodies and quickly begins moving upstairs.

As he nears the top of the staircase, he hears another gun shot. Screams can be heard ringing through the room, which Reese cannot properly see inside from where he rests, against the staircase.

"I need eyes in the room, Harold." Reese says.

"Single man, gun, coming down your way now." Harold informs him.

As Reese hears this information he stands, sets his eyes upon the shooter, and manages to swipe the gun out of his hand. Reese lands a punch to the man's stomach, his face, and then lastly to his head – which causes him to fall unconscious at Reese's feet.

Now that the man has been disarmed, those in the room begin to flee from it.

Reese steps away from the stairs and casts his eyes over the room; more dead bodyguards, he counts five, but no sign of Carlovski or of Charlotte.

However, as Reese turns towards the bar he sees a familiar face; Dustin Hawkes lies, slumped against the base of the bar, in a pool of blood.

Reese takes quick steps towards him, kneeling down by his side as he reaches him.

"Dustin is down, gunshot wounds to the chest." Reese says.

"An ambulance is on the way, John, so is Detective Fusco." Harold replies. "You need to get out of there."

"Who did this to you, Dustin?" Reese asks.

Dustin exhales heavily but doesn't manage to get a word out as his eyes move past Reese.

"Well, if it isn't John Charles." Carlovski announces.

Reese hears a gun click behind him and pauses.

"Don't make it more difficult for yourself, Mr Charles." Carlovski states.

John stands slowly, turning to face Carlovski as he does.

He finds three men who walk down behind Carlovski have Charlotte by their side, and they are roughly escorting her down towards them.

John's eyes skim over her quickly, he finds that her face is bloody and swollen, there are fresh bruises marking her arms and neck, and her dress is torn horribly and ripped, stained with scattered crimson.

His expression falters as he looks over her battered state, he tries to remain calm but he cannot.

"I'd take your own advice." John replies.

Carlovski smirks. "You stole from me and you think you can just walk away?"

"I'll be walking away, from this," John says calmly. "But you won't be."

Carlovski laughs as he moves away from John and steps closer to Charlotte, he grabs her harshly by her neck, gripping her tightly he turns to John and smiles.

"She won't be walking away from this either." Carlovski announces. "Do you believe that I'm stupid? You're a cop, aren't you? She's dirty now – Hell, she's always been dirty. I'm done with her, and I'm done with you."

Carlovski slams Charlotte down on the floor harshly, she falls down and hits her knees sharply on the tiles. She looks up slowly towards Reese, her hands shaking as they rest by her side.

Carlovski then turns towards one of his men and nods, he steps forward and lifts the gun to the back of John's head. The next of his men step towards Charlotte, and after a silent exchange and a nod from Carlovski, he lifts his hand down and strikes her violently in the face. She falls sideways and hits the ground, Reese jerks forward but stops as Carlovski points his gun to Charlotte.

"Don't be so foolish as to move, John." he smiles. "Farrigan tried to kill me, but his men didn't make it past the front door. They'll think that you two died along with the others. There is no scenario in which you make it out of this."

Charlotte is dragged up by her hair harshly by her hair, causing a small cry to pass her lips, and she is forced to kneel again.

She looks at Dustin, who is bleeding out and fading quickly.

Carlovski lowers the gun on her head. "I should have got rid of you years ago." he hisses.

Just as his finger moves to the trigger, Reese stands, snatches the gun from Carlovski and fires it at the man behind him. He disarms Carlovski and leaves him bloodied and unconscious on the floor, but he does not move quick enough to disarm the shooter behind him who manages to fire a round of shots.

The first bullet grazes and tears the skin on his right shoulder, while the second tears at the skin on his stomach, but John doesn't have time to think about this now and focuses on their current situation.

John turns back to Charlotte to find her kneeling by Dustin's side with her hands pressed to the wound on his stomach, she sobs silently, her entire body shakes.

And Reese knows immediately, with no verbal confirmation how they now each other and what their connection is.

Charlotte is Jane, Dustin is Jason.

John swallows tightly. "How far away is the ambulance, Finch?"

He kneels down slowly by Charlotte's side as he attempts to assess the extent of Dustin's wounds.

Her cries have become louder, her hands shakier, as she tries to keep the pressure to his wounds. His blood runs up her arms and stains her body. She tries to tap his cheeks, his eyes stay open but he's losing focus because he's slowly losing consciousness.

"Minutes. John, you have to leave. The police are seconds away." Harold states.

John turns to Charlotte.

"Charlotte..." he whispers. "We have to leave."

"I'm on my way down, John." Finch informs him.

"No, I'm not leaving. I'm not." she cries, keeping her hands firmly pressed to her brother's chest.

Dustin manages a small smile.

"It's okay." he says, weakly.

She shakes her head. "I can't-"

"The ambulance will be here in seconds." John says. "We have to leave."

"We have to take him with us." she turns to John.

"We can't leave him."

She receives silence in response – they can't take him with them, he would bleed out before they got him the care he needed.

"It's okay." Dustin whispers.

"John, the police have arrived." Harold states, clearly panicked.

"The police are here, we have to go." John he quietly says.

Charlotte shakes her head, as she clings on to him. She feels John's hands tightening around her shoulder, he's standing now because they have to leave.

She cries out, as she wraps her arms around him in an attempt to embrace him, hold him, save him, protect him, and cling to the childhood they once had.

"I'm so sorry," she cries.

"Charlotte..." John softly says

"The ambulance has arrived, John, and the police are at the doors. You have thirty seconds, at the most." Harold announces.

"It's okay," he whispers, a grimace resting on his face. "Let go..."

Reese breaks their embrace because he has to, because they have to get out of here or else they'll probably end up being arrested or questioned for being at a crime scene.

Charlotte cries out as John wraps his arms around her, to drag her away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry- I love you. I didn't- I'm-" she cries out as she is carefully drawn away from him.

John pulls her away from Dustin, as Harold instructs him on using a side door. They reach in just as the police reach the top of the stairway. John glances back and shares an exchange with Fusco before he turns away and guides Charlotte outside.

As they enter the alleyway they find it empty, and this much is a relief. John is directed of where to go, of where Harold is waiting for them, and they move in silence.

John glances at Charlotte to find that she stands still, stained with blood, shaking and shivering badly, a devoid expression on her features. He takes her hand and guides her down the alleyways, which Finch directs him through, which will eventually lead them towards the main street.

They walk for a few minutes, John still tightly holding on to Charlotte's hand, until they reach the main street but before they step out on to it John stops. He removes his trench-coat and places it around her shoulders, she doesn't acknowledge John, or this gesture, and instead keeps her gaze set down on the ground.

He considers taking her hand and guiding her to the car, but after deciding against it John thinks of something else. He pulls Charlotte towards him, gently guiding her with his hand.

John pulls her into his chest, lowering his right arm down around her as he does. He shields her from the rain but also prevents any one, on the street, from seeing her bloodied, bruised face and body.

He steps slowly out on to the busy street, guiding Charlotte as he does. She walks slowly, keeping her head against his chest, and as she does John looks down upon her and finds that her eyes are tightly closed like she's convincing herself it isn't real, that it's all a dream.

He leads her, with her eyes still closed, towards Harold's location.

"I'm waiting at the location." Finch informs him.

It takes John ten minutes, on foot, to arrive at the location which Harold is waiting for him with his car.

As he reaches the car, Reese opens the back door and allows Charlotte to slide in first. He gets inside after her and closes the door..

"Oh my..." Finch remarks, as his eyes fall on the gunshot wound to John's stomach.

Next, he lifts his eyes to John's bloodied shoulder. The blood flows easily, too easily, staining John's clothes quickly.

"Don't worry, Harold, I won't get it on the seat." John replies, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

John tears at the sleeves of his shirt until he has enough material to wrap around his wounds, to keep the pressure and to stop himself from bleeding.

"That is the last thing I would be worried about, John. We need to get you medical attention, and Miss Connor also." Harold says, glancing briefly over Charlotte.

"You are Harold, yes?" Charlotte asks, her shaky voice startling Harold as he hadn't expected her to speak.

"Yes, yes I am, Miss Connor." Harold answers.

She directs her gaze towards Harold briefly, before she extends her hand to him.

It is now that she seems to realise that her hands are stained with fresh blood, her brother's blood.

She notes Harold's reluctance to shake her bloodied hand, so instead she places her hand in her lap, shifting her gaze out of the window.

"A pleasure to finally meet the employer." she murmurs, softly.

Harold doesn't quite know how to react or respond, so he doesn't.

"I can take care of it, Harold, it's just a grazing," Reese replies. "I need you to take me to my apartment."

After Harold arrives at his apartment, Reese assures him he can take care of his own injuries, as well as Charlotte's, and if he has any trouble then he will inform Harold.

Charlotte doesn't accept John's offer of help, as he reaches out to take her hand and lead her upstairs. She ignores his hand, pretends that he never offered, and slides out of the car by herself.

Harold doesn't wish her a goodbye, and she doesn't wish him one. Instead, they part ways like they never met, like they were never introduced.

They take the stairs upstairs, certain that bloodied shirts and clothes would create a scene if the elevator was to stop on any other levels of the small building.

They move up the stairs as quickly as they can, luckily encountering no one on their journey upwards. When they reach the loft, John unlocks the door and allows Charlotte to enter first.

Charlotte breaks the silence.

"Where are your bandages?" she asks.

John is hesitant.

"Charlotte, I can take care of myself." he insists.

John's lips part, like he might try to convince her that they should take care of her wounds first, but he stays silent as he allows her to speak.

"You are bleeding, yes?" she says.

He nods.

"Gunshot grazings to the stomach and shoulder. Yes, you are a capable man, John, but you might find difficultly properly tending to the wound on your shoulder. I am not bleeding, therefore I don't require the immediate attention." she replies, slowly. "Now, please, where are your bandages?" she asks.

"Upstairs, in the bathroom." Reese replies.

"To the bathroom, then." she announces.

She moves up the stairs after John, keeping a close eye on him and his wounds as she does.

John enters the bathroom first, followed by Charlotte. He pulls open the drawer with the bandages, ointments, creams, and other medical equipment.

Charlotte barely glances over them before she pulls out several items; she places a pair of plastic gloves down onto the bench, followed by a pile of clean, dry bandages and gauze pads. She never asks why he is so well supplied, medically speaking.

She instructs that John sit down, so he sits on the closed toilet seat. She finds soap, fills the sink with water, and then dampens the edge of a clean towel.

She removes his coat, the one he allowed her to wear, and places it on the bench. Then she returns to his side and kneels down in front of John and unbuttons his shirt. She removes it slowly from his body, careful to not cause him further pain.

John watches her closely, intently, and as he does he notices that her eyes never wander, never stray away from his two bullet grazings. She is determined, focused only on his wounds, and so she does not look at any other part of his chest.

She cleans the area where the skin was grazed by the bullet first, and then she slides on a pair of gloves and cleans the gunshot grazing wounds with soap and water because that is all she has to work with – but it will still effectively kill off any bacteria.

The wounds have stopped bleeding, so she may bandage them tightly. First, she gently smooths the ointment on the grazings, an ointment he pointed out to her.

John was mostly silent.

She was completely silent.

"I'm capable of caring for myself, Charlotte." he insisted.

She simply nodded.

She bandages the wounds next; she places a sterile gauze pad on his wound and then places a dry, non-stick, bandage over the pad. She does this to both of his wounds, remaining silent throughout it all.

When Charlotte has finished tending to John's wounds, she turns away from him and returns to the sink where she begins to clean the towel she used to clean his back.

He hesitates as he stands slowly from his seat.

"Charlotte..." he says, softly.

She glances up at John, finds him watching at her in the mirror, but stays silent as she waits for him to continue.

"We need to clean you up." he says.

She believes otherwise.

"I'm not hurt, John." she answers.

Now, John is disbelieving.

John moves to her side, his eyes never leaving hers, a soft but sad expression on his features.

"Charlotte..." he says soothingly. "They hurt you."

He lifts a gentle hand to her shoulder, softly resting it there, because he knows she's hurting, she's in pain, and she's frightened. He won't let those men hurt her, he'll protect her, and he will help her however he can.

But she doesn't want his help.

She recoils from his touch immediately, like she's toxic, like she's poisonous and doesn't want to infect him with her poison.

"Don't, John..Please, don't touch me." she says, briefly closing her eyes tightly.

John sighs softly.

"I just want to help you, Charlotte." he says.

She shakes her head quickly, eyes still tightly closed like she's pretending to be somewhere else.

"But that's not what I want, John." she answers. "It isn't what I need or want."

"What do you want?" he asks.

She meets his gaze again.

"I want to be left alone." she states, sounding so sure that this is what she needs.

"I want to have a shower, and rinse the blood away, but I don't want your help and I don't want you to touch me." she says.

John takes a step away.

"I'm sorry..." he murmurs.

She stays still.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me." he informs her.

"I won't." she replies, as he reaches the door.

John leaves her without looking back, and she doesn't want him to look back.

She changes from her clothes slowly, discards them in a silver bin in the bathroom, and washes slowly. The water is cold at first, and it stays this way until she feels so cold, so numb, that she begins to crave the warmth that a simple turning of a handle can provide.

After she has rinsed the blood away, cleaned herself, and scrubbed her skin, she wraps a towel around her body and takes slow, almost cautious steps, downstairs to find that John has set out a long black shirt, one of his, on the bed for her as an option if she doesn't find anything else she wants to wear.

She can't find John downstairs, but believes it's better this way.

Nearly all of the lights are off, only the small lamp in the corner of the room is lit.

Despite that he told her that the windows were tinted, and nobody could see inside, she still feels self-conscious about changing in front of them.

She searches through her suitcase until she finds what she was searching for, underwear and long blue pants. She returns to the staircase, picking John's shirt up on the way, and returns to the bathroom.

She dries herself and dresses quickly, into her long pants and John's shirt, she picks up the high heels she had worn upstairs and carries them downstairs; she doesn't like the idea of creating another mess in someone else's life, even if it just a pair of shoes in his bathroom it's still a mess, it's something that isn't his, something that doesn't belong.

Upon returning downstairs she finds emptiness still.

Charlotte steps towards the balcony, lifts the window, and walks out onto it. She sets her hands down on the cement railing, draws in a sharp breath of air, and closes her eyes tightly.

"Don't worry, Mr Reese, I won't be jumping or falling." she states, knowing that he has appeared behind her without seeing him do so.

Her eyes remain closed.

"We're back at 'Mr Reese'?" John asks.

She smiles but he can't see it.

"Familiarity and complacency are equal risks." she states, opening her eyes slowly but keeping her back to him.

"How so?" Reese asks, finally.

"Complacency with the notion of safety, of security, with one particular person or place almost always leads to mistakes." she replies, with a much lowered voice.

Silence follows but only lasts momentarily.

"Charlotte, may I ask you a question?" John asks.

She turns slowly towards him.

"I'd rather you didn't."

John carefully considers her words.

"It's something I need to know, for your safety." he says.

"Mm." she murmurs.

"Tonight, why did you return?" John asks, finally.

"Familiarity." she replies, no hesitation.

"You just said so, yourself – familiarity is a risk. Going back there was a risk, Charlotte." John says, his eyes unintentionally flickering over her face. "He hurt you. He will continue to hurt you, so long as you return to him." he says.

She smiles again, and ignores his last words.

"Familiarity is a risk but it is also something the weak partake in. When we feel weak, we return to that place, or that person, that we once felt familiarity with." she answers.

John pauses. "You once felt something for Carlovski?"

"No." she answers sharply.

"Dustin Hawkes, then?" John suggests.

Silence returns.

"Charlotte?" John asks.

"I heard you." she states.

"You knew him." John observes, not asking but rather stating that she did know him.

"Yes." she nods slightly.

"How?" he asks.

She sighs.

"He was a colleague at the bar, nothing more." she lies.

"That is all?" John asks, pushing for more, wanting the truth.

But she can't give him what he wants, she can't give him the truth.

"Why do you question this?" she frowns.

"You told him you loved him." John states.

"Words any dying soul wishes to here, yes?" she says. "Simply saying words does not necessarily guarantee that they are meant."

"You knew him well?" John queries.

"Yes." she replies.

"He was there when Rowley..." he begins. "Peter Rowley is dead, Charlotte, he was shot like Dustin was tonight."

"You accuse me?" she asks, not a single flicker of emotion in her eyes.

"No." John shakes his head. "I believe it was Dustin Hawkes. I think he was protecting you."

"From what, Mr Rowley?" she almost laughs.

She laughs to hide her true feelings, which she would never reveal to John.

"I think he was protecting you from the monster who held you down, forced a needle of heroin into your arm, and left you to die from the overdose which followed, the overdose which Dustin saved you from." John replies.

Charlotte steps towards John, her expression colder than he believes he has every seen it.

"Very clever, Mr Reese, and you believe that is all that there is?" she asks.

"Charlotte..." John sighs.

Her smile disappears.

"Don't presume that even if the pieces fit together that the puzzle is complete. There is always something gone, something that you'll miss – a chip off of the edge of a piece, a mark, a scraping of colour gone. Nothing is ever truly complete, there is always something missing."

* * *

**A/N:** _Hi! I apologise about the late update, I know it's been a while & I'm sorry._

_I hope that you enjoy this new chapter, and thanks for reading._

_A special thanks to Hawk2012 and jowhoknits for their kind reviews of chapter 4._

_Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy._

_x_


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